


On My Honor

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Canon, Drama, M/M, No Slash, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-09
Updated: 2005-02-18
Packaged: 2018-12-27 10:38:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12079386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: AU; Brian is a counselor at a Boy Scout summer camp; Justin is one of his young charges. Sparks fly, complications arise, and there might be some boy-on-boy action in here, too, oh my!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

"How did I let you talk me into this?" Brian Kinney asked, rolling his eyes. He dangled his legs over the edge of the dock and took a large puff on the joint he was currently sharing with his best friend, Michael Novotny. 

"C'mon, you know it'll be fun," Michael grinned, taking a much smaller puff before handing the roach back to Brian. He blinked his eyes a few times and looked around warily. 'But, um, maybe we should put this out. My mom's going to be back any minu-"

"It's just your paranoia talking, Mikey," Brian interrupted, but he started snuffing it out anyways. "You know your mom always stays and flirts with the owner of the General Store whenever we're down here. Hell," he snorted, "she might as well invite him over for dinner, since she cleans out a week's worth of his inventory making it." Debbie, Michael's mom, always prided herself on having enough food at the table to feed an army. "It's the Italian in me," she often boasted, and their (the Novotnys and Brian, an honorary clan member for a few years, now) annual week-long trip up to Lake Harmony in the Poconos was no different. 

"You know my mom already expects you to come," Michael said with a note of chiding finality. "And she'll be there, too, so you'll have all the comforts of the Novotny residence, even when you're roughing it," he teased. 

"Only Deb would willingly submit herself to three weeks of feeding a few dozen teenage boys," Brian muttered, tossing the now ruined joint into the river. "Roughing it", of course, referred to the nearly month-long stint as counselors up at the local Boy Scout camp that the boys had signed on for together. It wasn't originally Brian's choice to do Boy Scouts, but a combination of keeping his father off his back about his supposed lack of interest in "manly" activities (although Brian wondered what could possibly be more manly than butt-fucking) and wanting to spend as little time as possible in the Kinney household had pretty much made the decision for him. Plus, he got paid for it, and as a twenty-year-old community college student struggling to pay for his own education, it wasn't like he had a whole lot of doors opening for him. Yet. 

Also, when Michael had broached the idea two months ago, he'd been really high. 

And while shitting in the woods and sleeping on rocks was about as much Brian's idea of a good time as having a ball removed, there were certain ... advantages to being a Scout. It was where he'd first met Michael, before they'd ended up in the same Chemistry class that following school year, and even though the uniforms were hardly flattering and the extreme dorkiness associated with the title of Eagle Scout even less so, Brian had long ago seen the upside to playing it straight, in more ways than one. He'd found that, if you earned enough merit badges and showed a moderate level of skill in tying knots, nobody really cared what other kinds of activities he partook in. Brian's membership in an organization that prided itself on the exclusive heterosexuality of its members allowed him his pick of dozens of hot, likewise fuckable young men, and the irony certainly did not escape him.

As if on cue, Michael patted his shoulder and snickered. "Hey, remember last year when you started that circle jerk around the campfire after the counselors had gone to bed?" He smiled goofily as Brian begrudgingly allowed himself to laugh. "Totally classic," he wheezed.

"Yeah," Brian agreed. "And just think, Mikey: this year, we'll be those counselors." It was a sobering thought, and neither of them said anything for a few moments. 

Eventually, the silence was broken by Debbie's loud, cheerful voice. "I'm back, boys! Come set the table and help make the salad, would ya'?" They both stood and stretched a bit before ambling back towards the cabin Deb had rented for the week, Brian trying not to think about how he felt a bit like a condemned man about to eat his last meal.

\--

A couple of weeks later, Debbie pulled her beat-up vehicle into a spot in the parking lot labeled "Woodlands Boy Scout Camp - Staff" with a cracked wooden sign shaped like an arrow. The sun blazed high, making the trees and surrounding foliage look plush and welcoming. "Well, boys," she enthused, "here we are! What do you think?"

Brian and Michael slid out of the car's cramped backseat, Brian wincing a bit as he stretched his long legs. "Looks like a typical campground," he shrugged. Michael plaintively kept silent, knowing better than to get in the middle of one of his mom's and Brian's frequent arguments.

"And smell that fresh mountain air," Debbie continued, momentarily ignoring Brian's cynicism.

"The pleasant aromas of pine and bear shit," Brian snarked. Michael bit his lip to hide his grin, and Debbie rolled her eyes. "There's just no fucking pleasing you, huh?"

"If it involves making a bed out of tree branches and singing songs around a fucking campfire, then no," Brian shrugged, unphased. He walked around to the trunk of the car and helped Debbie fish out their sleeping bags and other essentials; then the trio started trudging up the dirt trail to the actual campground. As staff members, they were all required to get there half a day ahead of the other campers, and when Brian, Michael and Debbie arrived at the main lodge, they found quite a few fellow counselors, kitchen staff, and assorted other faculty already milling about. "Oh, there's Cheryl," Debbie proclaimed, waving animatedly at a plump blond woman who was holding a box full of plastic dishes. 

Michael watched his mom hurry off to yak with her friend, and turned to talk to Brian, startled to find him clear on the other side of the room, chatting up a tall redhead. Their body language, once one knew what to look for, spoke volumes, and Michael suppressed a sigh - even here, Brian was going to trick to his heart's content.

It wasn't that Michael was opposed to Brian's homosexuality - he, himself, had had *those* types of feelings towards men ever since he was a ten-year-old boy reading comic books up in his superhero-themed bedroom. Never having known his father (only that he had died overseas while serving in the military - his mother kept a blurry picture, a few newspaper clippings, and his purple heart on their mantle, but that was the extent of his relationship with his dad), Michael didn't really know how to *act* around other guys. Brian was the first one he'd really met who didn't sneer at him when he talked about Captain Astro, his favorite comic book hero, or tried to shove him into lockers at school. And even though they'd never really *talked* about it, Michael just knew that Brian understood how Michael felt about him.

'If only it were reciprocated', he thought woefully, watching Brian, all bowed head and long lashes, laugh at something Redhead Guy was saying. Michael liked Brian a lot - loved him, even, as a friend and a brother and maybe even fantasized about them being lovers - but he just didn't get Brian's *need* to trick, and especially not when there were so many consequences for being caught doing it. "It's a rush, Mikey," Brian had explained to him once, and Michael really had no reason to contest that. But for all the rushes in the world, Michael suspected that settling down with the right person - girl *or* boy - and with the knowledge that you were loved and safe was the best rush of all. 

It was something he could never quite see, even in his deepest, most desperate fantasies, doing with Brian, either. 

Michael was jarred from his thoughts by the sound of a whistle blowing. "Gather around quickly," one of the Scout Masters urged, gestering at the pre-made circle of chairs in the center of the room. "We have a lot to get accomplished before the campers get here tomorrow." Michael took his seat in the outermost shell of the counselors, all clustered together, closer to his mom and the rest of the kitchen crew than the people his own age. Brian sauntered over at his own pace, a look of muted satisfaction on his face. Out of the corner of his eye, Michael saw Redhead Guy shoot his best friend a conspiratorial little wink, and Michael sighed. It was going to be a long three weeks.

\--

Michael unrolled his sleeping bag and set it on the wooden board serving as a mattress in the A-frame cabin he was sharing with three other boys. Two of them - a dark-haired guy named Ted who seemed like he'd be more comfortable in an office setting than out in the woods, and a rather flamboyant guy named Emmett who seemed like he belonged even less - were already asleep. It was well after midnight, Michael realized, staring at the face of his watch as it lit up when he pushed a small button. Where was Brian?

Fifteen minutes or so later, the man in question sauntered up the hill, Redhead Guy in-tow. Brian must have noticed the dim flourescent blue glow of MIchael's watch, because he pointed towards the bunk and gave a small wink-smile combination to his partner-in-crime. Redhead Guy slinked out of sight, heading for his own cabin, assumably, and Michael stared at Brian mutinously in the dark. 

"Have a good time?"

"Always," Brian purred, in that you-know-you-can't-stay-mad-at-me-for-long voice, and Michael sighed and listened to Brian's clothes rustle around as he changed into sweats and a t-shirt - Michael doubted that Brian Kinney had ever owned actual pajamas. "He had a great ass," he continued. 

"What was his name?"

"Fuck if I know," Brian snorted, and Michael couldn't help but smile. Despite how risky and frequent and non-Michael-inclusive Brian's sexual escapades were, Michael took a bit of heart in knowing that they were anonymous and meaningless. Still, Brian must have noticed Michael was a tad miffed, because he continued, "and how was your evening?"

"Dull," Michael took the lead-in to start complaining. "I thought we were going to hit the game room together after dinner but you never showed, so I ended up hanging out with Emmett and Ted the whole time."

"Who?" Brian queried, brow pinched in confusion. Michael rolled his eyes and gestured towards their slumbering bunkmates, and Brian nodded. "My companion for the evening went to high school with them," he said. "The taller one's a total queen, and I'll bet ol' Fred's a fag himself."

"It's Ted," Michael replied, not entirely surprised about the information - he *had* hung out with them for a few hours, after all - but now more nervous than ever for his - and Brian's - safety. "If it's common knowledge," he hissed as Brian smoothed out his own sleeping bag, padding it with extra blankets. "Shouldn't you be a little more careful about sneaking off for a quick fuck? I mean, what if you got caught," Michael fretted.

"Careful is boring," Brian retorted. "And I plan on being fucking fabulous," he declared, and then amended his statement a bit after some thought. "I mean, as fucking fabulous as anyone can be with nothing but uptight breeders and closeted queers for company." He didn't say anything after that, and the sounds of the wilderness filled the cabin.

"Good thing we've got each other for company," Michael eventually murmured, but Brian was already asleep.

\--

Breakfast the next morning - punctuated by one of the elders walking around the campground with a drum hanging from his neck, "singing" something known only as "The Morning Song" until Michael was sure that even his dead grandmother was awake - was a chattery affair, as pretty much the entire staff was buzzing about the carloads of campers who were on their way. Brian, who always managed to look fresh-faced and well-rested, even despite his late-night excursions, sat and picked at his eggs as Emmett and Ted prattled about the latest video rotation on MTV. If Michael had any doubt about Emmett's sexuality before, the taller boy's almost intrinsic knowledge of Madonna more than gave him away. And while Michael had heard a couple of the other counselors jeering about Emmett's obvious homosexual leanings as his mom scooped some food onto his tray, he personally liked the guy. Ted wasn't bad, either - noticeably quieter, but nonetheless nice once you got him talking.

"So which activities are you all stuck with today?" Emmett asked, referring to the roster of afternoon sports and assorted activities designed to take up a good portion of each day. After a small grace period, campers were allowed to choose which ones they wanted to attend. Counselors, on the other hand, were on a specific rotation schedule, whether they liked it or not. "I've got an Introduction to Hiking seminar to teach."

"Arts & Crafts," Ted mumbled. "Or rather, supervising to make sure nobody tries to eat the uncooked macaroni and that they don't glue their hands to their heads." Everyone at the table snorted. "What about you, Michael?" he ventured. 

"Drama," Michael offered, punching Brian in the arm when he snickered. "What's so funny?"

"It ought to be a sight to see is all," Brian laughed.

"I'll have you know that I'm a great actor," Michael boasted. "I have extensive stage experience."

"You've been in one play, and it was 'The Wizard of Oz' during freshman year. You were a flying monkey," Brian clarified. Ted and Emmett laughed heartily at the bantering back and forth, and Michael sighed good-naturedly. "But I'm sure you'll find something for them to entertain themselves with," Brian conceded. 

"And if not, they can just pretend to run each other through with prop swords the entire time," Michael grinned. "Hey, what's your assignment, Brian? You've heard all of ours."

"Yes, how will the prestigious Counselor Kinney be gracing his subjects this afternoon?" Ted teased, having quickly caught wind of Brian's I-am-the-center-of-the-universe complex. Brian rolled his eyes and intentionally popped a bite of toast in his mouth, chewing thoroughly to prolong the wait. 

"Swimming," he finally answered, and the other three boys heaved identical sighs of jealousy. 

"Sun, surf, and boys in their cute little trunks," Emmett yowled melodramatically.

"Lucky bastard," Ted grumped. 

"I know," Brian grinned. Truth be told, testing the campers' rudimentary ability to doggy paddle and tread water wasn't the most exciting task in the world, but it did afford him the luxury of sun and, as Emmett had so vividly spelled out for all of them, sightseeing. Despite Michael's worrying, Brian knew quite well how to be cautious, to not make a move until he was absolutely *sure* that all signs were positive, but there was no harm in looking. 

The rest of the morning was spent going over procedures, guidelines, and briefing the counselors on the how-tos and what-fors. Each was assigned a group of campers that, while not necessarily expected to travel together constantly, would consider that their homebase and meet at specific times over the span of the next few weeks. Lists of names were handed out, Brian's with the name "Counselor Kinney" at the top. "Just as you are all expected to uphold the qualities of a good leader, so too are your assigned campers expected to treat you with respect and dignity befitting your title. Therefore, it is suggested that you establish this relationship immediately with your group; ask them to call you 'Counselor So-and-So', and try to make a point to address them by their last names whenever possible."

"Just like the fucking army," Brian murmured in Michael's ear, making his best friend snort. The Scout Master shot him a look; "is there something you'd like to share with the rest of the group, Mr. Kinney?" he asked. He'd been a Scout Master when Brian was just a camper, and both knew that respect on either side was tentative, at best. 

Brian stared up at him, unphased. "No, sir," he said coolly. The Scout Master grunted, but went on with his lecture. Soft, almost indiscriminate murmurs carried through the room; Brian's already significant level of mysterious coolness had just skyrocketed.

Just before noon, the first vans started arriving, and young campers started piling into the lodge. Brian recognized a few of them from previous years, most of whom would be counselors themselves the following summer. In one corner of the room, he watched a broad-shouldered, athletic-looking boy of about sixteen elbow a slightly less-bulky blond kid of about the same age. "Out of the way, faggot," the first boy jeered, and Brian felt his jaw tense; he was about to walk over to intervene when the Scout Master blew shrilly on his whistle a few times, commanding everybody's attention.

"You'll need to get into your assigned homebase groups for initial introductions," the Scout Master said. "You all should have been assigned to a specific color group on the way here," he continued. "So if you're in the green group, you'll be with Counselor Schmidt --" At this, he gestured over to Ted, who gave a meek wave and kind of grimace-smiled. "Yellow group, you'll be with Counselor Novotny; black group, you'll be with Counselor Finnigan --" It continued this way for some time, finally arriving at the red group. "Last but not least, Counselor Kinney," the Scout Master said; by default, everybody knew who hadn't yet been introduced, and soon, all eyes were on Brian, who gazed around with a look of practiced boredom. 

The boys began dividing themselves into their assigned factions, gathering around the counselors and glancing hopefully around the swarm of faces, trying to make immediate social connections. Brian was engrossed for a moment in watching Michael explain who Captain Astro was after one of his charges pointed to his t-shirt, and didn't notice right away that both the athletic little asshole and the blond kid he'd been picking on were in his group. The bulkier one looked as if he wanted to needle the other some more, but one stern look from Brian sent him to the other edge of the semi-circle that had formed around its counselor. His eyes swept the sea of faces, mostly unfamiliar, and came to rest on the blond boy. Their eyes met, and Brian was surprised at how blue the kid's were; nearly the color of the ocean, and framed by long lashes. He had to forcibly tear himself away, and coughed abruptly, hoping nobody had noticed. 

"Okay," he said, pulling out the list of names. "Let's get this show on the road; when I call your name, let me know that you're here." He moved down the list swiftly, noting that the little jock prick's name was Chris Hobbs, and making a mental note to keep an eye on him. The other blond hardly moved at all until Brian arrived at the Ts. "Taylor," he called. "Justin Taylor?" 

"Queer!" Chris Hobbs yelled, overpowering Justin's soft but sure "here". The two boys flanking Chris slapped him on the back in congratulatory guffawing, and Brian resisted the urge to deck the little shit, choosing instead to level him with a look that could cut through steel. 

"Look, kid," Brian condescended, playing up the role of authority as much as he could. "I know you think it's great to pick on people who are smaller than you, but unlike on the football field, you're not in charge, here. This is my territory," he clarified. "And you're going to respect that. So shut the fuck up and leave him alone." Chris sulked, shooting Brian a glare but nodding reluctantly, obviously realizing that he was in no position to argue. 

Brian continued with his introductory speeches, going over the things he was supposed to, and assuring the red group that any and all problems that couldn't be solved between campers should be brought to him before going to a Scout Master. "Keep the fucking adults out of it as much as possible, or it's just more paperwork," he noted, his natural charm making everyone laugh and relax a bit more into their surroundings. "Now, if the raw sewage-like smell in the air is any indication," he continued, "I think it's about time for lunch." The other groups had obviously been told similar things and were disbanding; Brian decided to wait until the glut of people crowding the lunch counter had cleared, and shoved the group list into his back pocket. 

It was then that he noticed Justin still sitting in the same spot he'd taken up before, also, apparently, waiting for the lunch rush to die down a bit before grabbing something to eat. Their eyes met again, and Brian felt himself falling once more into the oceanous depths of those large, blue irises.


	2. On My Honor

Mid-afternoon saw the arrival of Brian's stint as a lifeguard. Dressed down in a simple pair of red swim trunks -- not nearly as form fitting as he would have preferred, but still able to accentuate his ass and finely-muscled build -- he was supposed to meet with the members of each color team throughout the day and make sure each boy could hold his own in the water. When it came time for the annnual canoe trip and subsequent camp-out across the lake, the staff wanted to take as few chances as possible on accidents/injuries.

All of the counselors started off with their homebase groups, and after lunch and a brief stop-off at his bunk, Brian met up with the red team at the docks. Immediately, he glanced at Justin, who gave him a small, fleeting smile that just barely showed off the whites of his teeth. 'Tease', Brian thought, but pushed the notion out of his head. It wasn't as if he hadn't had his fair share of trysts with counselors in his more formative years as a camper, but he had also been the one calling the shots. Justin -- Brian chided himself mentally for not thinking of him as "Taylor", as the Scout Master had instructed -- may or may not have been coming onto him, but Brian doubted the boy knew what he was getting himself into. The fact that he was a virgin couldn't have been more apparent if somebody had scrawled it across his forehead in permanent marker.

Brian instructed everyone to sit in a line along the edge of the dock, taking stock of the boys' swimwear, for lack of anything better to think about. Justin's was blue-green, he noted idly, almost the exact color of his eyes ... he blinked and vacillated hard. 'Stop it', he ordered himself.

"For the swim test, you'll need to make it to the 25-foot marker, that orange buoy out there," he explained, gesturing with his raised arm to the object. "Then you'll need to swim back and tread water for thirty seconds. Any questions?" The boys all shook their heads or murmured 'no'. "Great," Brian said, glancing at a stocky brunet who'd nudged his way to the front of the line. "Fielding, isn't it?" Brian queried.

"Yes, sir," the kid nodded slightly. Brian pointed towards the landmark again and he scooted off the dock into the water, letting himself drop completely underneath for a second before coming back up, hair wet and matted to his head.

"Ready, go," Brian intoned, and he began a steady breast stroke through the water. The buoy was still close enough for those at the dock to make out somebody's facial features from 25 feet away, and "Fielding, Shawn", as Brian noted, putting a little checkmark next to his name, made a show of grabbing it as if it were a life preserver he was melodramatically clinging to for dear life, making a few of the other boys - Chris Hobbs, who was next in line, included - guffaw. Eventually, he paddled back and began treading water for the mandated amount of time.

"Nice job," Brian told him as he climbed out of the lake, shaking one leg and then the other to unstick his unflattering flourescent green shorts from his skin. "Hobbs, you're up next," Brian said, keeping his voice free of attitude, even though he already could tell that the kid was a cocksure little fuck.

"Yes, Counselor Kinney," Chris simpered sarcastically anyways, plunking himself into the water and kicking off with a well-aimed splash in Justin's direction, whom Brian noted had placed himself near the tail end of the line. Justin sighed and brushed a few droplets off of his legs, but didn't say anything. Brian, on the other hand, gritted his teeth, cursing himself for caring so much and not just being grateful that Justin -- 'Taylor!', he corrected himself, scolding his mutinous brain -- wasn't having to be pulled off of Chris with his fists flying. He couldn't help it, though - something about the kid made Brian wanted to protect him. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, and that bothered him to no end.

Eventually, it was Justin's turn to take his swim test. All thoughts of protecting him left Brian's head as soon as the kid stretched out his gangly arms and kicked off. He sliced cleanly through the water, body well-toned if not a little scrawny, and Brian swallowed, focusing his attention on his clipboard, anything to avoid staring at Justin as he sailed back to the dock in record time. "Excellent job, Taylor," Brian complimented, hoping he didn't sound as breathless as he thought he did. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Chris Hobbs glowering, but Justin just beamed from where he still floated, treading water steadily. He had the most dazzling, beaming smile Brian had ever seen, and when he licked a droplet of moisture off of already wettened red lips, Brian very nearly groaned. The kid was a regular Lolita, he thought dubiously. He *had* to know what he was doing, too, the little shit. 

One more kid had his turn in the water before Brian sent them off to their next activity. Justin lagged behind again - probably just to avoid being harassed by Hobbs, Brian told himself. He kept his eyes steadily on his clipboard until he could feel another pair boring into him. Peering over the top, he glimpsed Justin, who looked to be almost in a trance-like state of concentration as he stared at the area just below his counselor's exposed navel. Brian felt a grin quirk the corners of his mouth - Justin was checking him out, and not very discreetly, for that matter.

"You're good," he called to the boy, pleased to see him startle a bit. "You on swim team at school or something?" 

"I was for about a year," Justin replied, grabbing a diamond-print towel, one which all the boys had been instructed to tote with them. "My dad made me, but I quit because art club was at the same time. I like to draw," he continued, trailing off as if he'd only just realized he was babbling. Brian thought it was rather adorable despite himself.

"Uh, anyways," Justin stammered out after a brief silence had taken over. "I guess I'll see you later. Have a nice afternoon, ... sir," he added as an afterthought. He flashed Brian another of those brilliant, wide, sunshine smiles, and tottered off down the dock to the Drama building, his swim trunks clinging to what Brian considered a beautifully-molded bubble butt. He was content to keep that, along with the image of Justin beaming at him in his head for the rest of the afternoon.

\--

Ted, Emmett and Michael were already sitting at what seemed to have become 'their' table by the time Brian had maneuvered his way through the lodge and out of earshot (and arm's reach) of Deb, who tended to keep up a steady stream of conversation until her throat got dry. "And how was your first day in charge, baby?" Emmett asked, rubbing his nose. He was looking rather sunburned, but didn't seem terribly bothered by it.

"How many hikes did you have to go on this afternoon, Em?" Michael laughed before Brian had a chance to respond. 

Emmett rubbed his temples melodramatically. "I lost count after having to risk life and limb to rescue somebody from the poison ivy bushes for the third time," he bemoaned. "And then one of the campers tripped over a rock and skinned his knee because he wasn't paying attention to where he was going, and I ruined my favorite handkerchief trying to stop the bleeding." He exhaled noisily, making very comical movements to represent pulling himself together, before turning to Brian and folding his hands serenely. "Now," he quipped, making the others laugh, "you were saying?"

"Yes, how *was* the lap of luxury treating you today?" Ted snorted, still obviously a bit jealous.

'I spent most of the day wanting to sink my dick into some hot blond kid's ass', Brian thought cynically. But he couldn't mention that, nor was he going to admit to sneaking off to the bunks for a quick jerk-off session while he changed out of his shorts. "It was mostly anticlimatic," he shrugged, and the others looked disappointed, but nodded.

"Well, I had a great time getting some of the kids to act out scenes from the 'Batman' movies," Michael enthused to break the silence. "Ken Fischer, this guy from the green group does an awesome impression of the Joker." He trailed off when he noticed Emmett and Ted's attention was focused across the room. "What's so interesting?"

"Lookit the little blond thing over there," Emmett said in a stage whisper. Brian craned his neck and felt his jaw tighten as he realized it was none other than Justin attracting his friends' attention. "That perky little bubble butt! Isn't he precious?" 

"And probably not even old enough to have his driver's license," Ted snarked, elbowing Emmett in the arm. "He *is* cute, though." 

"He's okay," Brian said. He watched the kid gather a tray and hold it out to Debbie, who scooped some mashed potatoes and a slab of that night's mystery meat onto it. She said something that made him crack one of his infamous smiles, and ... Brian blinked when he realized somebody was calling his name. "Huh?"

"That kid over there," Michael repeated. "The one talking to my mom; he's in your group, right? I saw him briefly in the Drama building today," he continued. "His name's, like, James or Jason or something."

"Justin," Brian offered, and then mentally slapped himself for appearing too interested. Of course, the other guys caught right on. 

"O-ho, *somebody* has been a little more attentive than he let on," Emmett teased.

"I'd say more than just a little," Ted added, smirking knowingly. 

"You know what, fuck you both," Brian retorted, stealing a carrot stick from Michael and avoiding eye contact.

"Such witty repartee," Ted cooed, and Brian gave him the finger. The conversation soon turned to the hunky new D.J. on Emmett's current favorite radio station back home (apparently, he went through favorites like Brian went through condoms), though, and Brian risked a quick once-over of the lodge-turned-cafeteria. Justin was easy to spot with his flaxen-colored hair, and also since he had positioned himself at a fairly empty table in the corner of the room. He ate methodically, eyes trained to stare only at his food, and Brian felt a pang of ... something run through him. It irritated him, if he were to be perfectly honest; he'd never been one to consciously make an effort to champion the underdog or to befriend the camp/school loner. Brian's looks and natural charm had always made it very easy for him to "fit in". And while he knew how to use it to his advantage, he preferred the company of people like Michael and Deb, down-to-earth and able to see through the chilly facade that Brian worked so hard to keep up for everyone else. 

He wished he knew how Justin fit into all of this. He wished he knew why he assumed that Justin fit into it at all. He stole one last lingering glance at the boy, whose Adam's apple vibrated as he gulped down a glass of milk, before turning away and tuning back into the idle chatter around him.

"You guys should have seen it, though, this kid's Joker impression was totally spot-on."

\--

Brian spent a rather sleepless night staring out into the darkness, wishing he'd had the foresight to bring sleeping pills or something akin to them along on this trip. He rarely slept a lot even at home, and trying to force it between the hours of midnight and 6:30 AM was damned near impossible.

It didn't help that he kept seeing a certain blond boy ass whenever he closed his eyes, either.

'This is stupid', Brian told himself; he picked up Michael's wrist watch that his friend had laid in the space between them and pushed the button to make the face light up: 3:17 AM. He sighed, rolled over, and resumed counting cocks - he'd always found the method to be much more effective than sheep.

Brian successfully avoided staring at Justin in the dining hall the next morning, and made it clear into the afternoon without running into him. By the time activities rolled around, he'd even stopped looking around warily every couple of minutes.

Since the boys had been introduced to all of the different activities the previous day, the choice of location was theirs. Emmett, who was scheduled over in the Drama building that day, had been thrilled when a couple of campers had approached him about putting on a play for the rest of the group. Michael was teamed up with Counselor Finnigan to take whomever wanted to go on a nature walk, and Ted was pleased to spend his day manning the canoes and boating equipment.

Brian was on his way to the Arts & Crafts building when a flash of orange caught his eye. "Hey," Redhead Guy greeted, walking over to him. "Remember me?"

"Not really," Brian shrugged, having no interest in chatting with some guy he'd already fucked three days ago.

"I'm Tony," the guy said. "We met during the orientation. I blew you in the --"

"Yeah, I know," Brian cut him off. "You blew me; past-tense. Why should I be interested now?"

Tony, or the Trick Formerly Known as Redhead Guy appeared taken aback. "I just thought you'd maybe like to get together later," he tried again. "I know this great spot where we --"

"I don't do repeats," Brian said flatly. 

Tony gave him a hard look and then seemed to get the message. "Asshole," he muttered, brushing past Brian and hurrying off in the opposite direction. Brian watched him storm away for a minute, and then continued along to his own destination, such that it was.

When he got there, he wasn't surprised to find the area fairly empty. Brian's own experience with the social hierarchy of his fellow campers had taught him that the more popular kids were the ones who rushed to spend their afternoons canoeing or going on a hike. The quiet, introverted ones, on the other hand, holed themselves up in the Arts & Crafts building, and Brian wasn't terribly shocked to find Justin sitting at one of the long tables, engrossed in whatever he was drawing in a sketch pad. 

"Counselor Kinney," he announced when he looked up. "I didn't know you'd be here today. I mean, I guess there's just as much of a chance of it being you as it is any of the other counselors, but, um --" he trailed off, flushing when he realized he was rambling again. "Uh, how are you, sir?" he finally said, grinning nervously and looking perfectly adorable doing so. Brian wet his lips.

"Another day, another macaroni picture," he replied, sounding smoother than he felt. He paused and re-evaluated what he was about to say before pushing it the rest of the way out of his mouth: "and you can call me Brian."

Justin smiled. "Just not when the Scout Masters are around, right?" He set down his pencil and flexed his fingers, and Brian's mind scrambled to decide if the kid had purposely implied that there'd be other times when they'd be alone together.

"No," he finally answered. "Not when the Scout Masters are around." He decided that the kid painting in the corner and the three clustered together cutting up something out of construction paper weren't desperately in need of his attention, so he sat down across from Justin, long legs straddling the wooden bench. "You draw well," he noted, taking in what was very obviously a sketch of the inside of the main lodge. 

"Thanks," the boy replied graciously, adding a miniscule bit of shading in one corner before focusing his attention on Brian. The other man's long legs were really not suited for such a low-slung table, and Justin reveled in the spark of excitement that danced up his spine when their knees bumped. He hoped that was why Brian cleared his throat just then.

"How long have you been, you know, doing it?" Brian continued, saving face. He tried not to harp on the numerous ways he could have phrased that better.

"Longer than I've been swimming," Justin replied, a small smile gracing his lips. "For as long as I can remember, really," he continued. "I used to draw little caricatures and stuff of my family and teachers, and then I moved onto more advanced things."

"Hence the art club," Brian ventured, recalling what Justin had told him previously.

"Well, that was more just an excuse not to do swim team anymore, actually," Justin confided. "My dad's got this problem with my not being 'macho' enough. He's always trying to stick me in one 'manly' activity after another, hoping it'll stick and I'll suddenly be interested in football and stuff. It's fucking annoying," Justin scoffed, and Brian just nodded, vaguely surprised with how similar his and Justin's situations sounded.

"That's why I'm in Scouts, really," Justin continued. "'Cause my dad's friends with Chris Hobbs' father and they thought it'd be good for both of us. Chris really took to it a lot better, though," he said bitterly.

"That guy's a real dick," Brian agreed. "I take it you go to school together?"

Justin nodded and rolled his eyes. "St. James' Academy," he offered. "I can't wait to get the fuck out of there."

Brian chuckled; he was surprised how much at ease he felt with Justin, and slightly annoyed with himself for not finding it to be such a bad thing. "Can I see that?" he asked suddenly, pointing to Justin's sketchpad. Justin handed it over, and Brian began flipping through it. Most of Justin's subjects were non-human: a particular flower found on one of the nature trails; the "Welcome to Woodlands!" banner hung between two long wooden poles at the camp's entrance; and a drawing of one of the bunk houses, amongst other things. And then he turned the page and came face-to-face with ... himself.

"Oh," Justin stammered, worrying his lip between his teeth, and making Brian want to lean over and suck on it. "It - it's not very good and I probably should have asked you but you were with your friends --" He trailed off and waited nervously for Brian's reaction.

Brian stared at the picture, eyeing Justin's attention to his leanly-muscled limbs and even the way the folds of the fabric of his bathing suit fell so realistically. Justin had a keen eye for detail, he thought, and -- he grinned -- an obvious appreciation for the way his swim shorts had framed his cock. "It's ... very flattering," he finally told Justin, and the boy beamed. "If I wasn't me, I'd be jealous."

"You can have it," Justin suggested, ripping the thick sheet of paper out of the pad before the other man could protest. He grabbed his pencil again and signed his name near picture!Brian's right foot. 'J.Taylor' it read. "Go on, take it," Justin assured him. "I can always draw more." His eyes sparkled mischievously at this, and Brian knew without a doubt that Justin was perfectly aware of what he was saying. 

Brian stood and carefully folded the drawing up, sliding it into his jeans pocket. His and Justin's legs bumped against each other again as he slid back down, and they both laughed, not caring that they drew a few stares from the Arts & Crafts building's sparse other occupants.

\--

Michael shivered and pulled his hoodie tighter around him, waiting for the campfire to grow large enough to serve its purpose and keep him warm. He nudged Brian's shoulder a little and scooted closer. Brian acknowledged it with a small smile, but remained otherwise unresponsive. Michael tried to chalk it up to their being surrounded by the entire camp, but he'd noticed his best friend's preoccupied manner earlier in the day, as well, and seeing it continue now did nothing to ease his concerns.

Glancing up at Brian's profile, Michael followed his line of vision until his own eyes settled on ... that blond kid; Jimmy or Justin or whatever his name was. It bothered Michael somehow that Brian *had* remembered, gave him a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach that he couldn't quite shake, especially when he noticed Jimmy-Justin-whatever-the-fuck return Brian's eye contact. Brian didn't remember the names of all but a handful of people; to him, it was an unnecessary factoid that clouded his ability to take from others what he needed/wanted and then forget all about them. What made this Justin character - he was pretty sure it was Justin, now - so special?

Michael was interrupted from his mental reverie by the sound of one of the Scout Master's voices, urging the boys - counselors and campers, alike - to recite the Boy Scout Oath with him. "On my honor, I will do my best, to do my duty to God and my country," Michael said by rote. He continued mumbling the words, brow pinching slightly as his tongue tripped over promising to keep himself "physically strong, mentally awake, and morally straight" when he saw Justin stand up and hurry away from the group. 'Maybe he has to pee or something', Michael told himself; he tried not to let it bother him so much, half-heartedly joining the group in a round of campfire songs. It wasn't until Justin still wasn't back five minutes later and Brian stood up and brushed himself off that the rocky feeling in Michael's stomach solidified. On impulse, he grabbed his friend's hand, attempting to issue a warning or ... something. "Brian," he hissed, eyes wide and breath coming visibly in the chilly night air.

But Brian just gave him a lopsided grin and hurried off in the same direction that Justin had gone. Michael sighed, staring hard at the tall orange flames that were finally blazing in front of him. He shivered.


	3. On My Honor

Justin bit his lip and peered out again from behind the cabin he and Brian had agreed to meet up at, looking for any trace of the other man. It would have been more prudent, perhaps, if he'd remembered to pack a flashlight, but in his haste to get down to the group campfire that evening, it had hardly been on his mind. 

Brian, on the other hand, had been on the brain ever since they'd locked eyes in the main lodge that first afternoon. Brian's chiseled good looks were what had originally struck Justin; the man held himself with a charm and elegance not normally found in most guys in their early twenties, and certainly not rivaled by anyone at Woodlands or St.-Fucking-James' Academy. Justin had never had a boyfriend or even any real homosexual experiences before, so it wasn't as if he had much credibility in such areas, but something about Brian had struck him immediately. He was ... special; 'and now', Justin thought excitedly, 'he's going to be the one to take my virginity'. 

Brian hadn't *said* as much of course; direct communication of such a thing at Woodlands would have been *too* directly laughing in the face of the Boy Scouts' often-alluded to "don't ask, don't tell" anti-gay policies, and as Justin had mostly agreed to go to prove to his dad that he was just as 'manly' as Chris Hobbs or anyone else in his troop, it wouldn't be prudent to be quite that obvious. He would come out to his parents eventually, but being kicked out of Boy Scout camp for buttfucking wasn't the way to go about it.

Even though, technically, that's exactly what he and Brian were about to do, providing the older man bothered to show up. Justin thought back to their earlier conversation, walking out of the Arts & Crafts building together that afternoon. "I had a really good time with you," Justin had blurted as they trudged up the long, winding path leading to the rows of bunk houses. He nearly tripped over a rock ahead of him because he was staring at his feet so intently.

"It beat macaroni pictures," Brian offered, flashing him a small smile that wasn't necessarily a come-on, but Justin decided to take it as one. Desperate for their contact not to end, he grabbed Brian's left hand suddenly in both of his. 

"It ... we could make it even better," he insinuated, placing Brian's palm against his chest and cradling it. 

Recognition and lust flashed in Brian's eyes; he swallowed. "Justin -" he began. 

"I want you," Justin purred, turning up the wattage of his smile. Feeling heady, he slid Brian's hand down to brush over his crotch. Long fingers grazed the boy's clothed cock, and it twitched; Brian pulled his hand away as if he'd been burned.

"Justin," he said again, much more firmly this time. He looked around warily, making sure nobody else had been party to Justin's antics, and then cleared his throat, crossing him arms as if visibly protecting himself from the onslaught of Justin's hornyness. The thought struck the boy as terribly amusing, and try as he might, Justin couldn't stop smiling cheekily.

"Look, kid," Brian said, switching tactics. "I'm twenty and you're, like, fifteen -"

"Sixteen," Justin interrupted. "And that doesn't matter to me -"

"Yeah, but it matters to me," Brian said. "And it matters that I'm your counselor, and it matters that you're still considered underage in the eyes of the law." He gave Justin a look of steely resolve, but the boy was persistent. 

"How old were you *your* first time?"

"That's completely irrelevant," Brian scoffed, but Justin raised an eyebrow and planted his feet slightly apart in a mockery of Brian's stance, making him roll his eyes. "I was fourteen," he admitted begrudgingly.

"That's really young," Justin remarked. And Brian nodded and told him about his very first blowjob, given to his gym teacher in the school showers after soccer practice. Justin's eyes glazed over with lustful fascination. "I want to do that to you," he breathed, grabbing for Brian's crotch. "I want to take your cock in my mouth and suck it and make you come hard enough to see stars."

"J-Justin," Brian gasped, but the kid knew he'd won.

"Please," he wheedled, his breath hot against Brian's ear. "I want - no, I *need* you to fuck me, Counselor Kinney." And that was all it took. Brian had agreed to meet him later after that, and Justin had been so anxious and eager and abso-fucking-lutely *horny* that he'd barely eaten a thing at dinner. But now, standing behind an empty bunk house in the near-freezing cold, his teeth chattered and his stomach growled. His resolve was ebbing away, and just as Justin was about to assume that Brian had gotten cold feet - or worse, had never planned to uphold their little scheduled rendezvous in the first place - he saw a tall, sinewy frame walking briskly towards him.

They regarded each other in silence for a long moment before Brian finally spoke. "It's too risky here; even if the campfire lasts for another hour or so, somebody could always come back early." His brow furrowed, and Justin bit his lip; he wanted this so badly, and if Brian decided to cancel on him after all that anticipation, he didn't know what he would do.

"I've got an idea," Brian murmured after what seemed like an eternity. He grabbed Justin's wrist and started tugging him down a windy dirt path, their sneakers making soft thumping noises as they tripped along the ground semi-blindly in the dark. Justin saw the nurse's station up - a small yet inviting cabin that had seem many a kid for poison ivy rashes and other assorted camp casualties - up ahead, nearly blending into the shadows. "First aid crew's up at the campfire with everyone else," Brian explained a bit breathlessly. He fished around in the pocket of his tan shorts, eventually coming up with a small ring of keys, which Justin knew for a fact that all counselors had a copy of. "They don't usually come back here until morning, either," he continued, and Justin beamed. 

Brian fumbled with the lock impatiently until the door finally swung open with a small creak. The two hurried inside, and Justin, making sure the curtains on the large bay windows were closed, groped around in the dark until he located a small lamp and clicked it on. Pale yellow light filled the small building; a refrigerator/freezer combination stood in the corner alongside a desk, and a large set of cupboards took up almost an entire wall, filled to the brim with medical supplies. A short hallway introduced two doors on opposite sides, one of which was labeled "bathroom". The other carried no such introduction, but having been left ajar, its purpose as a lay-down area for sick patients was apparent by the set of twin beds inside. Justin glanced at them, shedding his sweatshirt and leaving it on the floor. He took in his surroundings, savoring the moment, and jumped suddenly when something rustled behind him.

The front door locked with a satisfying 'click', and he realized that he and Brian were completely and utterly alone.

Brian padded over and walked around Justin to stand in front of him, taking in the boy's anxious and lovely, lovely face. "Nervous?" he asked, eyes sparkling but not with scorn. 

"A little," Justin breathed honestly. "It ... it's just my first time, you know?" He placed his trembling hands on Brian's forearms and tried to look braver than he felt. He was pretty sure it was failing miserably.

"Yeah, I know," Brian murmured, his hands on Justin's hips. They stood like that in silence for several moments, but Justin's mind was anything but quiet. 'What now,' he thought. Was he supposed to give Brian some sort of sign that he was 'ready'? Was *he* supposed to make the first move? What if Brian was just now realizing that he was just a dumb kid --

And then all his fears were brushed aside, at least temporarily, when Brian leaned down and pressed their mouths together in a searing kiss. Brian's lips were soft and pliable against his, and Justin eagerly opened his mouth wider to allow access for Brian's tongue, sweeping over his teeth and doing battle with Justin's own. He didn't ever want it to end, and when Brian broke the lip-lock, Justin moaned despite himself, then louder when Brian used those beautiful, beautiful lips to kiss a trail down his slender neck. "Fuck," he breathed, gasping when Brian nipped at his Adam's apple. His hands groped at Brian's waist, wanting more contact, and soon. 

"Patience, young grasshopper," Brian chided teasingly, pulling up the hem of Justin's button-down shirt and sliding his fingers along the smooth expanse of skin underneath. The campers were not required to wear their official Boy Scout clothing 24/7, but most of them had more than one set. And while Brian had always found the regulation dress code hideously unflattering, something about stripping Justin out of his sashed shirt and khaki shorts appealed to him - it truly was as if the boy were shedding his innocence right before Brian's eyes. Well, some of it, at least; something about the mix of Justin's cheerful disposition and flagrant cheekyness told Brian that he'd always be sort of idealistic and shiny and new; odder, really, was how much that turned him on. 

He unfastened the row of buttons with an ease belying what had to be many years of practice. Wanting to give as good as he received, Justin reached for Brian's own shirt, but the older man slapped his hand away. "Later. You, first," he instructed, and suddenly, his mouth was on Justin's again, stifling any possible protests, and his hands were groping at the boy's fly. Justin kicked off his shoes and stepped out of his shorts as they fell to his ankles. He jumped when Brian's fingers found their way underneath the waistline of his underwear, and Brian snorted softly. "Are my hands cold?"

"Kind of," Justin stammered, unable to take his eyes off of Brian. The fact that this gorgeous man was inching his underwear down bit by bit couldn't really be happening, could it, Justin thought, idly wondering how many of his recent wet dreams had included Brian sinking to his knees in front of him, at eye-level with what Justin had always assumed was an impressive enough cock. He was achingly hard, too, although be it more from the cold or the intoxicating presence of Brian, he wasn't sure. 

"Well, well, what do we have here," Brian purred, quirking an eyebrow appreciatively. Justin huffed and flashed him a quick smile, the exhalation soon turning into a moan when Brian's hand wrapped around the base of his cock. Deft fingers danced along Justin's sac, and when Brian's thumb brushed against the tip of his penis, Justin's eyes nearly rolled back into his head. "Don't come yet," Brian ordered, leaning in to lick a drop of pre-come off the head of Justin's cock before kissing his way back up his body and smashing their mouths together. Justin could taste himself on Brian's tongue as it slid along Justin's own, and it inflamed his senses to a fever pitch.

"Lie down on the bed," Brian told him, and Justin complied, spreading himself out as much as he could on the small mattress. He gazed up at Brian lustfully, drinking in the man's finely-rippled stomach as he pulled his shirt off. Knowing he had Justin's rapt attention, Brian grinned and put on a show. He toed off his shoes and wiggled out of his pants slowly, then slid his boxer briefs down his legs. His cock jutted out proudly from a dark bed of short, rough hairs, and at that moment, all of Justin's fantasy-fueled assumptions about the older man's endowments were confirmed and then some.

Brian crawled onto the bed and straddled Justin's hips, their groins pressing together in a delicious friction. Brian leaned down to kiss the boy again, but before things got too far out of the realm of his control, Justin stopped him. "At school, we have this lecture," he started questioningly. "A-about safe sex ..."

Brian smiled, still in awe over how much the kid's innocence made him that much hotter. It also left him with a sharp pang of guilt, of worry that he shouldn't be doing this, but he pushed it aside; Jusitn had drawn him in, and for Brian Kinney, there were no excuses, no apologies, and no turning back. "And now, we're going to have a demonstration," he replied, bending over the edge of the bed to grab his discarded pants. Reaching into one of the pockets, he pulled out a wrapped condom and the small tube of lubricant he carried around with the same regularity that most people toted packs of gum. He held them up for Justin's inspection, and the boy smiled, the tension on his face slightly less palpable now that he knew Brian wasn't going to put him in any unnecessary danger.

"Put it on me," Brian instructed, and Justin took the proffered condom and gingerly rolled it onto the other man's erect dick. His hands shook a little, and Brian stroked his sides comfortingly. "Just relax," he said, and told Justin to bring his legs up and over Brian's shoulders. Squeezing a few drops of lube onto his fingers, Brian brought two digits up to Justin's ass, sliding them gently in-between his cheeks.

"Aaahh, c-cold," Justin gasped, squirming. It soon heated up, though, and he rutted back against the fingers, groaning when Brian withdrew them, and then shivered when he felt Brian's cock nudging his entrance.

"Ready?" Brian asked him. Justin bit his lip, took a deep breath, and nodded. He blinked wide, trusting eyes at Brian, who balanced his considerably heavier weight mainly on his upper arms. It was a pleasant sensation, being trapped underneath him, Justin thought. And then the first few inches of Brian's cock slid into his ass, and he couldn't really think much at all. His head fell back against the bed's lone pillow; Justin gasped, and Brian took that as permission to pull out and thrust in again, harder this time.

"Ohh, fuck, B-Brian," Justin keened, legs spasmodically tightening their grip on the other man's waist. A rhythm was established soon thereafter, Brian snapping his hips in and up loosely in time to Justin's jagged breathing. The boy pulled Brian down for another heated kiss, and he complied, smoothing a palm over Justin's sufficiently leaking cock. "Like that?" Brian panted, strands of dark hair falling into his eyes. Justin brushed them back and bucked up needily in response. 

"Please," he begged, far past caring how pathetic he sounded. "Please, Brian, oh, God, please ..." He trailed off, moaning incoherently at that point, and Brian wrapped his hand around Justin's dick once more, squeezing and pulling in time with his thrusts. It didn't take long for the combination to send Justin over the edge, and he climaxed hard, nearly sobbing Brian's name, forehead damp with sweat and coating his and Brian's stomachs with semen.

"So fucking ... hot," Brian murmured, pounding once, twice, and finally three times more before he, too, was coming hard enough to, as Justin had so wantonly foretold, see stars. He rested his forehead against the boy's for a few moments, their irregular breaths mingling in the shared aftermath. Justin leaned up to capture Brian's lips with his again, and they lay there together for a bit, sweaty and sated.

Eventually, Brian rose to his knees again, pulling out of Justin gently and removing the condom. He tied it off and padded back into the main room of the building to grab a tissue off the desk, wrapping the soiled prophylactic in it and shoving it into the garbage can, intentionally underneath a number of other things so it would be much less likely discovered. He walked back into the room with the bed where Justin was perched, wiping himself off as best he could with the bedsheets. They didn't speak as they dressed, neither seeming to find witty rejoinders or waxed metaphor to be appropriate for post-coital conversation. The silence was not entirely unpleasant, though, and after the bed had been stripped and remade with clean sheets, Brian gave Justin one last long, firm kiss and lightly smacked his ass. "I think it's way past your curfew, Taylor," he murmured huskily, and Justin laughed and followed him out the front door from whence they came; no longer a virgin, but just as head over heels as ever for the man he teasingly called "Counselor Kinney" before they parted ways.

\--

Brian yawned and stared irritatedly at the glass of orange juice that Michael thrust in front of him the next morning at breakfast. "I don't do pulp," he announced.

"C'mon, drink up," Michael persuaded, and then added flatly, "you need to conserve your energy if you're going to be up for another performance like last night's."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Brian said boredly, picking at his eggs.

"Oh, so your hour-long leave of absence from campfire was just for a bathroom break?" his best friend retorted. "I guess you were just making sure that Justin kid knew how the outdoor toilet worked, huh?"

"Something like that," Brian grinned. 

"He keeps looking over here," Michael continued, thumbing his finger at the blond boy who was, indeed, trying unsuccessfully to make eye contact with Brian. "What'd you do," Michael said sardonically, "pop his cherry?"

"Do you have a fucking problem or something, Mikey?" Brian finally snapped, emphasizing Michael's nickname with clenched teeth. Michael glared at him in response, eventually pushing his chair out and grabbing his tray just as Brian was about to snatch a stray slice of grapefruit off of it. "I promised Ma I'd stop by and talk to her this morning," he mumbled, and shuffled off in a huff.

"What's up his ass?" Brian asked Ted, rolling his eyes and nursing his (pulpy) orange juice.

"Not you, I guess," Ted replied, his response sarcastic to mask what Brian had long suspected was (unrequited) affection for his best friend.

"Yeah, well, too bad he's not interested in you," Brian flung back at him, irritated at the tone of the entire meal, now. "I'm sure you'd do in a really, really, *really* tight pinch," he snorted.

"Fuck you, Brian," Ted sighed, unable to deflect Brian's spot-on analysis of the situation and hating himself for it. He nodded in Justin's direction a moment later. "Don't look now," he segued. "Blond boy ass at eight 'o' clock." 

"Huh? Oh, Christ," Brian groaned. "Can't anyone fucking wait between rounds?" He glanced at Emmett, who so far had sat quietly, observing from a distance as he paged through the latest issue of "Vanity Fair", dated nearly a week ago. "Well? Aren't you going to add your two cents?"

Emmett blinked at Brian and raised an eyebrow. "No thanks, sweetie," he said airily. "I'm broke. But, I'm sure you'll find some way to survive." Brian's lips twisted into some semblance of a smile. Whereas Michael was painfully obvious in his adoration of Brian, and Ted regarded him with equal parts scorn and jealousy, Emmett was unphased by his antics. He asked for nothing, and as a result, seemed by and large to have earned Brian's begrudging respect.

And then there was Justin, who barreled over to the table of the 'Fabulous Four', as Emmett had dubbed them, obvious intention infusing every step. "Oh, look, Brian, it's one of your young charges," Ted snarked, happy to get a jab in whenever possible. "What was your name again?" he asked, turning to Justin and biting his lip to hide the grin threatening to take over his face as Brian's turned scarlet. 

"I'm Justin," the boy announced unnecessarily. "Justin Taylor. Bri - uh, Counselor Kinney helped me out with this horrible stomachache I had last night," he continued, obviously not realizing that Emmett and Ted were perfectly aware of how Brian had "helped" him out. "And I just wanted to get the recipe for whatever it was he put in the tea he made for me," he finished. 

"Well, Counselor Kinney's very touchy about the secrets of his miracle-working tea," Ted continued to snark, making Emmett even have to stifle a giggle. "But I'm sure he'd make an exception for such a thoughtful lad. Wouldn't you, Counselor Kinney?"

Brian vacillated furiously and stood up, shooting Ted a glance that, if looks could kill, would have had him in the intensive care unit gasping his final breath. He turned to Justin, studied the hopeful face, the sparkling blue eyes that had so transfixed him mere days ago. He wanted to blow him off, to set the record straight (so to speak), here and now, about his one-fuck-only policy, but ... no, he decided. Not here, not in front of his friends, such that they were. "I don't have it memorized," he finally said, momentarily ignoring Ted and Emmett's sniggering. "Why don't you come with me to get it. Now," he hissed, tugging on Justin's arm a bit harder than necessary; the boy quickly caught on and followed Brian out of the room, having to jog to keep up with the older man's angry, long strides. 

They hurried down the hallway of the lodge, finally coming to a rarely-used hideaway room that looked to have once been used for teaching, due to the dusty chalkboard still sitting in the far corner. "In here," Brian ordered, and Justin followed. Brian propped himself against the wall and folded his arms, not looking anymore amused than he had out in the cafeteria. "We need to get something straight here, kid," he began. "The thing is, I had you. I wanted you, and we fucked, and that's it. So no more little secret rendezvous, or coming up to me in front of everyone and practically salivating all over my shoes. It's over," he concluded, and waited for Justin to admit defeat and go away. 

"I didn't mean to embarrass you or anything," the boy said simply. "I just really wanted to show you how much I appreciated what you did for me last night. I want to return the favor," he whispered huskily, and Brian gaped at him incredulously.

"Did you even hear a fucking word I just said?"

"Yeah," Justin breathed. He sunk to his knees and rubbed the front of Brian's pants, satisfied to see the already rather prominent bulge expanding. "I heard every word," he whispered, and before Brian could stop him, unzipped the other man's fly and pulled out his cock. And Brian wanted to push him away, really he did, but then Justin's mouth was wrapped around his dick, and it was warm and wet and so-fucking-beautiful and oh, God ...

"Fuck ... you," Brian groaned defeatedly, grabbing fistfuls of the kid's obscenely soft hair and yanking just enough to make himself feel better about giving in so completely and utterly, and Justin just smiled triumphantly around his mouthful.

\--

_Dear Justin,_

_I hope that camp is treating you well. I know that with SAT prep and all of the activities taking place at school, you can definitely use the break, and what a wonderful, freeing environment a place like Woodlands must be! I miss you, though, sweetie, and Molly does, too._

_Your father says hello, and wanted me to mention a month-long internship offered to up-and-coming juniors and seniors at his company. It would take up most of August, and you'd learn valuable experience for a future career in business. Your father is very excited about the opportunity, and the paperwork is sitting on your desk. It's your choice ultimately, of course, but you don't really have any definite plans after you get back from camp for the next couple of months, and there's only good that can come of it._

_Also, Grandma Josephine is planning to come out to Pittsburgh sometime in late July, and she's looking forward to seeing you and Molly and how much you've both grown since Christmas. She said to tell you she loves you._

_Anyways, please write back when you get a chance, and have fun for the rest of your time at Woodlands!_

_Love, Mom_

Justin smiled to himself and refolded the letter using the pre-made creases. His mother, never one to deal well even when Justin left to spend a single night at his best friend Daphne's house, had threatened to write him everyday he was at camp. And while he was pleased that she wasn't sitting around at home, pining for him, it was nice that she at least took the time to write. It was more of a gesture than his father would have made; as evidenced by the obvious push towards taking the internship in the letter, Craig Taylor was all business, all the time. He worked long hours, leaving, Justin imagined with a small shudder, much to be desired in his and his wife's sex life. More than anything, though, his dad expected Justin to follow in his footsteps, never once taking into account that his son might not be remotely interested in going to Dartmouth and getting an MBA. 

"Hey, faggot, what's that?" Chris Hobbs said by way of greeting as he entered the bunk house. By some cruel twist of fate, he and Justin had been assigned to not only the same homebase, but also had to share living quarters, and his former grade-school friend and current nemesis made sure to remind Justin of his presence whenever possible. He started to tuck the letter away, but Chris grabbed at it, scanning the contents and snickering. "Awww, a letter from Mommy? How cute." He flung it back at Justin and reached into his own bag, pulling out his swim trunks and a towel. "I'd change in here, but you'd probably check me out or something, you fucking fairy," he chortled, and mimed waving a limp wrist in Justin's direction. "See you later, girly-boy," he called and then, blissfully, disappeared around a corner. 

"Fucking asshole," Justin muttered to himself once he was out of earshot. He thought back to his conversation with Brian in Arts & Crafts the other day - what Justin now mentally categorized as the pre-loss-of-virginity stage. "How long have you guys known each other?" Brian had asked when the subject arose (not long before other things, of course). 

"Our dads have known each other since we were about seven or eight," Justin had explained. "We were both on the same little league team, and even though I sucked at it and quit as soon as I was able to, we ended up in the same classes and schools together since." 

"He's a real fuckhead," Brian said aptly. "Was he always that way?"

"Mmm, not really," Justin shrugged. "It was really only since the beginning of last school year when he found out I was ... well, you know."

"How?" Brian asked. "I mean, *I* could tell, but short of putting on your own gay pride parade at one of St. James' pep rallies or something, it shouldn't have been that obvious."

Here, Justin had flushed a little. "Yeah, it was nothing that ostentacious. I, um, kind of gave him a hand-job last year."

"No shit," Brian laughed, and he grinned.

"He was totally into it and came really hard and stuff," Justin recalled. "And then afterwards he got really quiet. Then the next day, he made a point of asking to switch seats in math class because he didn't 'feel comfortable next to a fairy' or some bullshit like that." Justin rolled his eyes and then, taking in Brian's clenched jaw, had laughed lightly. "Like you said, he's an asshole." Brian's concern had touched him, though; it was one of many surprising things about the man that Justin was now privvy to knowing - that beneath the aloof facade was an extremely kind, gentle, and compassionate human being. 'And hot,' Justin thought, grinning to himself. He flipped open his sketchbook, bought specifically to capture camp memories with (his mother's idea mostly, although now he was glad she'd thought of it), and about three-quarters of the way full - and not just with interesting foliage. 

Justin thumbed through the tablet until he came across the picture he'd been working on that morning: a skyward view of Brian, drawn as if the person would had to have been lying on their backs to capture it. The shading still needed a bit of work, but the chiseled lines of his face were well-framed by tendrils of hair that fell loosely around it. His forearms were leanly-rippled and tense with the strain of balancing his upper body on them, and his facial expression was one of sheer bliss; mouth slightly open, eyes fluttering shut, the tip of his tongue darting out to capture a bit of perspiration that had gathered on his upper lip. It was beautiful; Brian was beautiful; and as Justin smiled down at the lead-colored representation of him, he knew it wasn't going to be the last time he got to see calm, cool, collected "Counselor Kinney" in such a relaxed state.

No, not by a long shot.


	4. On My Honor

It was barely dusk when Brian crept out of his bunk house, a towel and a blue caddy full of shower necessities in hand. It had been a week at Woodlands (Land of Repressed Wood, as Brian sometimes referred to it), and his usually regular cycle of eating-fucking-working-fucking-clubbing-getting-high-catnap-fucking-fucking had been severely stagnated by surrounding circumstances. Burdened by lack of choice, he'd practically been force-fed glorified cafeteria slop masquerading as gourmet camp food, resulting in a generally more sluggish and greasy disposition (although he doubted anyone else had noticed; even at his worst, Brian was still beautiful). Couple this with the fact that his sexual forays in the last seven days had been severely limited, and it would have been an understatement to say that Brian Kinney was not a happy camper.

But at that exact moment as he plodded along the bumpy ground in hastily tugged on tennis shoes, the only thing Brian was worried about was a hot shower. While patrons of Woodlands certainly had a sufficiently less amount of luxuries at camp than when they were at home, it was not without a couple of conveniences, including a small bathroom with flushing toilets and a communal shower. Experience over the years had taught Brian that said showers were the most cluttered in the evenings; very few campers wanted to wake up even at the assigned hour (and in fact, probably only cooperated so well because they knew there'd be a hot breakfast waiting for them). And while Brian had no qualms about being naked and soaping himself in a room full of sexually repressed teenagers, the fact remained that his personal hygiene was severely lacking, and that he should take the opportunity to rectify that whenever possible.

He arrived at the bathroom - a significantly longer distance away from the bunk houses than most of the outhouses; another reason for their lack of use - and tugged off his clothing, stopping in one of the stalls to take a piss before heading over to the shower area. Turning the knob all the way to the left (marked with a small, red "H"), he held his hand under the spray until it grew satisfactorily hot. He gasped a bit as he dunked his head underneath the mist, delighting in the refreshing warmth it provided.

He was busy soaping himself when the faint sound of footsteps could be heard. Brian arched his back and began shampooing his hair, not taking much stock in whomever his fellow early bird was. That is, until he blinked water out of his eyes and stared blearily at Justin, naked himself and meandering towards him, his morning wood still quite prominent. "Should have taken care of that when you first woke up," Brian snorted, voice echoing slightly. 

"I was saving it for you," Justin replied silkily, gazing down at Brian's own cock in appreciation. He inched closer and dropped his voice to a hushed whisper. "Hey, remember that story you told me the other day? About your gym teacher?"

Recognition flashed in Brian's eyes. He licked his lips in spite of himself, trying not to smile. "I seem to recall something about a gym teacher," he said coolly, giving Justin his most impassive face. Justin didn't respond verbally, just drew close enough to run a finger down Brian's wet chest. He traced the soft lines of the other man's stomach, fascinated by the way they rippled when Brian flexed almost involuntarily.

Eventually, Brian seemed to regain his powers of speech. "How did you even know where to find me?" he asked, morbidly curious. He reached down and gave Justin's dick a soft tug, unable to resist and eliciting a small squeak. "Does this thing have radar or something?" 

Justin grinned infuriatingly. "You weren't in your bed when I stopped by your bunk, so I came here on a hunch," he said, aiming one of his beautific smiles at Brian. "Lucky guess, huh?"

"You went to my bunk?" Brian sputtered, wishing he could be angrier, even though he mostly just wanted to throw the kid down on his makeshift bed and fuck him, to have Justin's unique, intoxicating scent enmeshed in his sleeping bag long afterwards. He managed to frown: "what were you planning to do, molest me while I was sleeping?"

"No, but I'll have to remember that one for next time." His hand continued on its journey, never having completely left Brian's body, reaching his cock and brushing it lightly with his fingertips. And Brian wanted to say something to the effect of, "there isn't going to *be* a next time, you little twat," but then Justin was on his knees in front of him, and like the follow-up blowjob in the lodge, and every time after that, all Brian could manage was a soft groan at the mere sight. Water cascading lightly off the boy, blond hair a dark honey when wet, Justin was the stuff that Brian's disturbingly frequent homosexual fantasies were made of -- and he knew it. "You really should have taken care of this when you first woke up, Counselor Kinney," Justin murmured. And then he took Brian's cock down his throat, and there was no more need for talking.

Brian was hard and leaking, and Justin's mouth worked over his cock as the shower water pulsated over them both. Brian's fingers tangled desperately in wet clumps of hair, and he let out a strangled gasp as the boy deep-throated him, swallowing around his dick several times. The ease with which he did so was obscene, especially for someone who had only just lost his blowjob virginity a few days ago. 

Brian felt his balls constrict and, noticing the shift in tension, Justin grinned around his cock. His tongue brushed over Brian's slit, and suddenly, he was coming, his considerably loud and appreciative moaning drowned out by the tuneless tones of "The Morning Song" being performed by one of the Scout Masters outside.

\--

Brian sauntered into the cafeteria a good half hour or so later - thankfully, he thought irritatedly, without Justin in tow. He half-expected to be twenty-questioned about his whereabouts, but by some additional stroke of luck, Emmett was commanding the other boys' attention as he prattled excitedly about ... whatever. Brian snorted to himself; Emmett was pretty easy to please, really.

"Hey, Brian," Michael greeted when he sat down. "Where were you? I woke up and you'd mysteriously disappeared." 

'Shit', Brian thought. "I was taking a shower," he explained nonchalantly, stuffing a slice of orange into his mouth. "Cleanliness is next to godliness, after all," he pointed out between chews.

"I'm sure you would know," Ted offered.

"I'm sure he would, too," Emmett interrupted, tapping his fork against his plate for re-control of the table. "Now," he continued, "can we please get back to *me*? There's so much to plan - like my outfit!" he exclaimed. "I'm thinking something sparkly and sequined, something that would make Cher proud, and -"

"Planning for Halloween early this year?" Brian interjected, snarking to mask his curiosity.

Emmett just scoffed. "I'll have you know that I've received special permission from the Scout Masters to coordinate Woodlands Boy Scout Camp's first annual Talent Night," he explained cheerily. "And not only that," Emmett continued, "but I'll be the Master of Ceremonies."

"Don't you mean 'Mistress'?" Brian asked, but only grinned good-naturedly even as Emmett reached across the table and slapped him in the arm. "So does that mean you won't be going on anymore hikes?" he simpered.

"Mmm," Emmett mumbled, hurrying to swallow his mouthful of coffee. "It took some wheedling, but I convinced them to let me act as head counselor in the Drama department indefinitely. The official sign-ups for the campers to participate will be posted after the morning announcements."

"Well, we're happy for you, Em," Michael announced.

"It couldn't have happened to a nicer drama queen," Ted quipped, and everyone at the table of the Fabulous Four laughed.

"You're all going to make me cry," Emmett sniffled melodramatically, then sobered with comical quickness. "Now, then," he said, all business again. "Should I go with a blonde wig or red?"

\--

Aside from Emmett and Drama being taken out of the rotation, not much about activities had changed. Brian had led three boys on a two-hour hike the previous afternoon during the hottest part of the day. The result had been a deep golden farmer's tan, woefully inadequate if he'd planned to hit Babylon, his favorite dance club on Liberty Avenue (where the motto was pretty much, "leave your clothes on the floor"), but acceptable fare at camp, where very few people, sadly, would see him in much of a state of undress. And speaking of those too few and far between voyeurs, Brian groaned when he realized he was scheduled in Arts & Crafts again today. He knew Justin would be there and that, even though his brain would tell him not to give in to the brat again, he'd take one look at those blue eyes and glistening red lips and his overactive cock would make the decision for him.

The kid had some strange effect on him that drew Brian in as if by way of a gravitational pull. Being around Justin made his stomach kind of queasy and his legs weak, and all that other maudlin crap on those stupid television dramas that his older sister Claire was always watching. It scared Brian, quite frankly; Justin wasn't supposed to have that effect on him - no one was. Brian had prided himself for a long time on his ability to have a constant string of anonymous, no-strings-attached one-night stands. What was it about this kid that made him succumb again and again? And since when did Brian Kinney succumb, anyways?

He stopped at the front entrance of the Arts & Crafts building and realized his hands were shaking as he reached for the knob. 'Get a fucking grip, Kinney,' he told himself gruffly, then took a deep breath and strolled inside as nonchalantly as possible. Sure enough, there was Justin, working with what appeared to be watercolors. He looked up and beamed when he saw Brian, and immediately that feeling in his stomach was back. 'I'm not going to give in this time,' Brian told himself sternly, purposely sitting on the opposite side of the room. It wouldn't do to let the little shit have his way anytime they met, he thought determinedly, and started flipping through an outdated issue of "Boys' Life" that somebody had left on the table. 

If Justin was phased, he didn't show it, merely bowing his head and concentrating anew on the picture in front of him. He dabbed a bit of brown onto his makeshift canvas, and even though Brian couldn't see the details of the painting up close, he had a sneaking suspicion that he was Justin's subject matter. He tried to appear uninterested, thumbing through the magazine; some troop in Colorado had raised over $500 at their annual charity car wash. 'Who the fuck cares?' he scoffed, and snuck another glance at the boy. Justin's hand moved in almost unnoticeable increments, and when the tip of his tongue snuck out the side of that beautiful mouth, parting his lips, Brian forgot all pretenses of discretion and simply stared. 

Aware that he was being watched, Justin grinned and continued painting, filling in shading on the subject's brown, wavy hair. A pleasant tension built up nicely, and he purposely avoided eye contact with Brian, content simply to feel the older man's frustrated gaze. He shifted a little on the wooden bench after about ten minutes, though, and reached down to cup himself through his pants. He was hard, he realized, and unable to resist any longer, met Brian's eyes. Brian blinked a couple of times as if startled that he'd been caught, his mouth open slightly and face just the tiniest bit flushed. More telling, though, was his own hand, brushing over what Justin knew from experience was a very prominent bulge in his pants. Justin couldn't help but beam at the notion that he and Brian were sporting twin stiffies. And though it would have been amusing to see how far a public mutual masturbation session could go, Justin didn't want to seem *too* easy. He stood up and plucked the plastic cup full of fairly dirty water from its spot on the table. Then, shooting Brian a come-hither glance, he sashayed off to the bathroom.

Brian watched him leave, trying to decide whether to commend or loathe the little shit for beating him at his own game. His erection ached now, and since he didn't have the luxury of returning to his bunk house for another couple of hours, he knew and his straining cock knew that there was only one plausible solution for release.

Glancing around the room, he made sure the crowd (thinned out even more than usual, since a few of the regulars wanted to participate in Emmett's talent extravaganza) was thoroughly occupied, then stood up, wincing as his knee hit the side of the fucking table. "Gotta piss," he mumbled through gritted teeth to nobody in particular, on the off-chance that anyone wondered about his intentions. And with a barely noticeable hobble, he strode off towards the bathroom and after Justin.

The kid wasted no time once the stall door clicked shut, attacking Brian's mouth with his owwn, a shared ferocity between them. It had only been a few hours, but the desperation in the sharp kisses Justin pressed to Brian's mouth and face and throat, the way Brian nearly ripped the zipper off of the boy's fly were akin to lovers who'd been separated for months. 'That's what we are now, in a way,' Brian thought dizzily as he ran the pads of his thumbs over Justin's nipples, twisting one and languishing in hearing him yelp. 'Lovers.' The thought fairly terrified him, and if Justin hadn't pressed a pre-lubed condom (apparently from his own stash) into his hand, and bent over at that moment, his pale, round ass vulnerable and practically winking at him, Brian might have been freaked out enough to stop.

Justin spread his legs and braced himself against the wall of the small enclosement, one hand sliding down to cup the back of Brian's thigh, helping to position him. It was a comfortable habit they'd both gotten used to, a silent conveyance of permission, and Brian buried his face in the crook of the boy's neck as his dick found its destination. "Fuck," he groaned. "J-Jesus fuck ..." The sensations were as intense as they'd been on that first fateful night together, but the pace was rougher, faster, harder this time. Justin was a pro, now, and Brian treated him like one, twisting his hips and angling his cock to hit Justin's prostate again and again. The boy moaned headily and rested his head against his arms, still breathing heavily after Brian came. He cupped Justin's balls, pinching and rolling them between his fingers, smiling satedly against the back of his neck. "Come for me, Justin," he coaxed in a gravelly whisper, and Justin did, shivering in Brian's grasp and swearing mutedly under his breath.

"We should head back," Brian's voice buzzed in his ear after a time. "It already looks suspicious that we disappear together all the time." He pulled out of Justin with a groan, and peered through the space between the door and stall divider to make sure the coast was clear.

"Mmm," Justin murmured, taking his time to pull up his pants and clean himself up. "I don't care what anyone else fucking thinks," he grumbled, stepping out of the stall a good minute or so behind Brian. "They're just jealous," he purred, wrapping his arms around the other man's waist from behind. Brian shook him off. 

"You still need to fucking be careful," he snapped, whirling around abruptly and startling Justin. "Unless you want to get yourself into deep shit."

"Right," Justin responded weakly. "I - I know, Brian -"

"It's Counselor Kinney," the older man snapped. "When we're around other people, or in a place where one of them could walk by at any moment, you need to fucking remember that." He stalked back out to the main part of the building and sat back down at the table he'd claimed originally, only biting his lip this time when his knee inevitably banged against the wood. Justin followed about five minutes later, carrying a freshly-filled glass of water to rinse his brushes out. They didn't talk for the remainder of the afternoon.

Brian couldn't get out of there fast enough when the block of time set aside for activities was finally over. He hurried out the door and was halfway to his bunk house before Justin had probably even finished packing up his things. Intending to merely change his shorts (he'd gotten jizz on them during his and Justin's latest run-in), and grab a sweatshirt for campfire later that night, he was startled to find a crowd of about ten or twelve people standing around the cabin he shared with Emmett, Ted, and Michael, all of whom were in attendance.

"What's going on?" he asked Michael; his best friend just nodded at the side of the bunk house, and Brian's stomach lurched slightly when he saw what the commotion was about. Somebody had taken a canister of pink spray paint - Brian had seen some in various colors in one of the storage closets in the lodge - and written "FAGGOT" in large, jagged scrawl. Brian's head spun; did somebody know?, he wondered. Had they seen him and Justin ... together ... and decided they didn't approve? 'Of course they don't approve,' he thought sardonically. 'You're fucking an underage kid, and a gay one, at that, for Christ's sake.'

Emmett and Ted were surveying the insides of the cabin. "What's the damage?" Michael queried, patting a sniffling Emmett on the shoulder.

"Well, they managed to trash pretty much all of my stuff," Emmett bemoaned. "My clothes are ripped and muddy, my toiletries are all dumped out; I'm lucky I s-still have shoes on my feet," he continued, biting back a sob.

"Why'd they target you?" Brian asked, secretly a bit relieved that his and Justin's past transgressions were still just that.

Ted sighed and patted Emmett's shoulder sympathetically. "Someone thought Em's excitement over planning the talent show was too fruity, or something," he explained.

"Did they figure out who it was?" Michael asked, brow furrowed in disbelief and outrage.

Emmett shook his head. "And I doubt the Scout Masters are going to care much about justice being served in this case." He wiped his face on the back of his sleeve and sighed, trying to compose himself. "I don't know why I expected anything different, really, but ... I did."

"Maybe Madonna Honeycutt is an act better left in the closet," Brian observed dryly. Ted and Michael glared at him. "Look, it's shitty, but that's how it is in the future-yet-currently-repressed homos of America club. You knew that when you first signed up." He stepped inside the cabin and ruffled through his own duffle bag for a clean pair of pants and his old Allegheny High sweatshirt, took another glance at Emmett's disheveled corner of the bunk, and left.

\--

News of the attack on Emmett travelled quickly, and by dinner, it was the hot topic of conversation. The Scout Masters were, of course, obligated to at least write down the nature of the harassment, although nobody expected much to come of it. They couldn't kick Emmett out on the allegations alone, of course, since there was no hard evidence, but as was par for the course, none of them treated the misdemeanor with the severity it deserved.

Michael didn't say as much, but the attack had left him feeling pretty scared, not only for his own status as a closeted homosexual at camp, but also what would undoubtedly be considered a quantifiably larger misdemeanor of engaging in sexual activities with a fellow male, and an impressionable young camper, at that! Michael figured that Justin wasn't as naive as he would have liked to think, but he knew that that's how it would come across to the Scout Masters if Brian were ever caught in the act. Brian would be charged with coercing a minor; Brian would be kicked out of camp and Scouts and sent home; Brian would have to deal with his homophobic, alcoholic parents while Michael and Emmett and Ted sat around hoping that nobody else decided to attack them - because what could they do, really, to fight back?

"I'm sure you can borrow some of everyone's things for the next couple of weeks," Ted was telling Emmett when Michael sat down at 'their' table. "Although Brian's pants might be the only ones that fit you; you're both so ... tall," he pointed out.

Brian swallowed the bite of salad he was currently working on. "They're not worthy of Cher or anything, but I've probably got a couple of pairs of jeans that I can spare," he offered. 

"Thanks, baby," Emmett said gratefully, then sighed. "I hate taking hand-me-downs, but I've got a big family, so I'm pretty used to it." He paused and took a sip of water. "Back in Hazelhurst, Mississippi, where we lived before my dad got transferred to Pittsburgh, we were lucky enough to have enough clothes between six children to fill one closet. I got ... teased there a lot, too," he continued, looking down at the table and tracing a groove in the wood. "Mostly for being poor, but also because I was, well, pretty 'obvious'." He made little quotation marks with his fingers to emphasize this. 

"But my sisters were all in Girl Scouts and since I couldn't join them, I opted for the next best thing," he explained. "It gave me something to do, and it got me out of my parents' hair about being 'respectable'." The other guys all nodded, having had or heard of similar experiences. Michael glanced across the room at Justin as Emmett prattled on, who merely sat doodling. The fact that the kid was normally pretty quiet and introverted would make hypothetical allegations that Brian had "preyed" on him all the more alarming, he thought, and with that, he stood up with an almost knee-jerk reflexiveness. 

"I, uh," he stuttered when Ted, Emmett and Brian all looked at him. "I'm just - er, going to go say hi to my mom; we haven't talked in a while," he explained quickly, and hurried across the lodge. His mom was in the kitchen washing dishes (the cooking staff rotated jobs just as the counselors took turns manning the activities); "I'm her son," he told one of the servers, and they motioned him back. 

"Hi, honey!" Debbie greeted, pulling Michael into a soapy hug. She brushed off his now damp shirt ineffectually, then handed him his own pair of gloves. "Why don't you lend a hand, and tell me about your day while you're at it," she offered. 

Michael took the proffered gloves and reached for a freshly-rinsed dish and a towel to dry it with. "It's pretty much the same-old, same-old," he shrugged. "I mean, except for Emmett's getting harassed and all." He glanced at his mother to gauge what she already knew. 

Debbie nodded sympathetically and clucked her tongue. "That poor boy," she said, shaking her head. "He's in your cabin, isn't he?"

"Yeah," Michael responded morosely, flicking a leftover particle of food off a piece of silverware. "Everyone's pretty shaken up about it. Especially, well ... me," he put forth. Debbie gazed down at the glass pan she was holding, and Michael couldn't tell if she was just preoccupied or taking stock of what he'd just said. He figured it was the latter when she set it down and turned fully to face him.

"Michael, sweetie," she said, her voice lowered to a near-whisper. He fully expected her to tell him that it 'wasn't natural' or that he 'just hadn't found the right girl', so he had to fight back a loud laugh when she asked, "you *are* using condoms, right?"

"Ma! I'm not - I mean, okay, I *am*, but not with anyone *else*, and ... how did you know?" he asked incredulously.

Debbie scoffed. "I'm your mother, I always know," she smiled, patting his cheek. "And I know how you feel about your friend Brian." She glanced around to make sure they were still the only two party to the conversation at hand. "Is *he* using condoms?"

"Yeah, he's careful," Michael laughed, and then, soberly, "but not really enough around here, you know? I'm really worried about him, Ma. If he gets caught and kicked out -"

"Then that's his problem," Debbie interrupted, voice firm yet resigned. "I'm not saying I want to see it happen because I love that kid as much as I do you, but if he does take himself down, I don't want you or anyone else going with him. You hear me?" Michael nodded and she enveloped him in another hug. "I love you, Michael," she said when she pulled back.

"I love you, too, Ma," he returned with a small grin. He wanted to tell her about Justin, how Brian would not only be taking himself down if what he was doing was discovered by the wrong people, and even how seeing the kid lap up his best friend's attention made Michael so envious he wanted to scream. But his mother had just handled what was essentially his officially "coming out" to her, and he didn't want to overwhelm her. "One more thing before I go," he said, unable to hold off. "If you ... knew," he asked. "Then how come you let me do Scouts?"

Debbie was uncharacteristically quiet for several moments, collecting her thoughts. Finally, she responded: "I didn't want to deny you the same rights all boys your age had, for something you hadn't even discovered about yourself yet. I felt ... guilty, really," she continued, wringing her hands. "Because you've never had a father, and I thought ... this could be a way to make up for that, at least somewhat." She paused and wiped her eyes. "Look at me, getting all sentimental." She kissed Michael's cheek, then frowned and rubbed unsuccessfully at the bright red lipstick stain left behind. "Now, go on," she commanded with mock sternness. "Enjoy the rest of your evening." 

"You too, Ma," Michael smiled, and left, feeling as if a gigantic weight had been lifted at least partially off of his shoulders.

\--

Justin had just finished composing a letter in response to the one his mother had sent him when Chris Hobbs barrelled into their bunk house, flanked by Shawn Fielding and some kid named Isaac whom Justin didn't know terribly well but whose friendship with Chris had pretty much set them at odds with each other from the get-go. "Hey, fag," Chris jeered as he set about rifling through his things. "Did you hear about somebody outing one of your fag friends earlier? Shoulda been you," he continued, waiting for Justin to take the bait.

"Ah, well, I guess there's a fag in every bunk," Chris said, then gestured at his crotch. "I guess we should make the most of it and enjoy the free blowjobs, right, boys?" he laughed; Isaac and Shawn both guffawed.

Justin set the letter on a stump of wood serving as a makeshift nightstand. "Sorry," he said breezily. "I only give handjobs." 

Chris was on him faster than Justin's brain could register, squeezing at his throat and pinning him to the bed. "You fucking sonofabitch!" he yelled; Justin's fingers pried at his, and just as things started getting blurry, he was suddenly able to breathe again. Chris snarled in Isaac and Shawn's grip. "Take it easy, man," one of them murmured.

"Yeah, just leave him alone," Shawn said. Chris finally seemed to calm down enough for them to let him go; he grabbed the jacket he'd been searching for out of his suitcase and steeled Justin with a menacing glare. "You're going to be fucking dead, you little cocksucker," he vowed, and was then fairly pulled away by his two friends/henchmen. They finally left, and Justin gingerly felt his throat; there'd probably be light bruising, but nothing more. 'Fucking asshole,' he thought, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He left to go toss his letter into the outgoing mailbox near the lodge.

All through campfire, Brian remained as moody as he'd been that afternoon. Justin tried several times to make eye contact with him, but to no avail; Michael, on the other hand, glared at him plenty. Justin suspected that he was somewhat in love with Brian, but that his best friend didn't return his affections. 

He climbed into bed that night after setting the alarm on his wrist watch to wake him up so he could hit the showers early again. He had a sneaking suspicion Brian would be there, and the excitement of getting to *be* with him again, like *that* overshadowed all the bullshit with Chris Hobbs and one of the counselors - one of Brian's friends, even - getting harassed. Brian just made everything better, except, of course, for attempting to sleep. He tossed and turned until nearly 2 AM, finally collapsing out of sheer exhaustion. 

Just scant hours later, he rose as quietly as possible and collected the shower supplies he'd carefully laid out before hitting the sack. Thankful that Chris and his other bunk mates were still asleep, he crept along the winding dirt path, feeling his heart skip a few beats when the communal showers came into view. Once inside, he took his time stripping out of his clothes and padding towards the showers, where he heard water running; obviously, Brian had gotten here first. "Bri-" he started to call out, and then, with a grin, "Counselor Kinney?" He turned the corner, expecting to find his wet, naked lover, and instead saw ... nothing. No one. Just the shower head pumping out water with nobody underneath it. 

"C-Counselor Kinney?" he called out again, significantly quieter this time, given that he was somewhat spooked. *Someone* had been here, had to have turned the water on, and-

"Taylor."

Justin jumped, then spun around and bit out a small, relieved laugh when he saw who it was. "Brian," he giggled, reaching out a hand, but Brian shifted out of his reach, and Justin startled to realize that the other man was still fully clothed. "I - I knew you'd be here again, so I thought I'd come by," he began, shooting Brian a nervous smile.

Brian didn't return it. "You can't keep doing this, Justin," he said solemnly. "It's too dangerous. If somebody did what they did to Emmett, they're obviously not going to have a problem turning either of us in; I'm actually surprised that they haven't already." He took a breath. "So you need to leave me alone; stop following me around, stop drawing pictures of me, stop-"

"W-we can be more careful," Justin protested, not willing to admit defeat. "We'll stop running off to the bathroom during activities and wait until there's nobody around to tempt fate. We can still be together." He blinked up at Brian a bit desperately, waiting for the usual look of resignation on the other man's face, but it never came.

"Look, kid," Brian finally responded, reverting back to his condescending tone of voice. "I don't think you get it. We. Can't. Do. This. Anymore. It was fun, but now it's time to move on."

"But I really like you," Justin protested, grabbing for Brian's hand with both of his own, only to have Brian pull away again. "I'm even starting to lo-" 

"Do you actually think I feel the same way?" Brian exploded. "Do you think I care about you anymore than the dozens of other tricks I've had? Let me tell you something, Justin Taylor," he enunciated. "You were a fuck; a one-night stand; a pretty boy with a hot ass that I could sink my dick into. You don't mean anything more to me than that. I don't love you, I don't like you, and I'm not your lover, or even your friend - I'm just your counselor," he finished, leveling Justin with a hard stare that fought desperately not to melt in the wake of the boy's now teary eyes. "And when camp is over, I won't ever even think about you again."

Justin was crying visibly now; Brian, not trusting himself to not give in should any kind of physical contact be initiated, stepped around the boy and crossed his arms over his chest. "Now, go take your shower," he said in a beaten-down monotone. He left without looking back, and Justin waited for the door to close before sinking to his knees, his sobs muffled only slightly by the sound of water pulsating out of the shower head.


	5. On My Honor

Justin sighed, taking in his surroundings with little excitement. His early morning confrontation with Brian had left him exhausted, especially since he'd spent the better part of it sniffling like a fucking baby, and he wished more than anything that nap-time was considered part of the activities schedule. Not wanting to chance running into Brian more than was absolutely necessary -- there was an obligatory meeting with his color team about Woodlands' upcoming camp-out across the lake in a couple of days, for instance, that would make their interaction unavoidable -- he'd decided to forego Arts & Crafts for the rest of camp, and anything else Brian might be involved with. That left only the Drama department as a safe haven; Justin had no real interest in participating in Talent Night, but after some carefully-placed wheedling, he'd convinced Counselor Honeycutt to let him assist with scenery and the like. That way, he'd have a nice little hideaway, without the public humiliation.

Counselor Honeycutt - who had insisted that everyone refer to him "by first name basis only, babies, since 'Barbra' is already taken" - had told Justin just to see what all of the boys were cooking up, and to jump in wherever he saw fit. Not immediately inspired by watching someone from the yellow team juggling and another guy trying out a couple of really lame jokes on his friends, Justin sat himself in the far corner of the Drama building's expansive stage, his pencil idling over his sketchpad. Eventually, a dark-haired guy meandered over, a guitar in hand, and plopped himself down, letting his legs dangle loosely over the edge. Not playing for anyone in particular, he faced the non-existant audience head-on, and began strumming a few bars of a fairly old song that Justin recognized from the classic rock station his father liked to listen to. 

The dark-haired kid continued playing, and Justin found himself transfixed, watching his fingers dance over the guitar's fingerboard. The kid's eyes were closed as he swayed along with the music, not in any kind of forced way, but obviously extremely involved with what he was doing. His interest piqued, Justin began sketching the sight before him; the kid's face was only partially turned towards him, but it was enough for Justin to make out strong features and a soul-patch on his chin. It gave him an air of mystique that most of the guys Justin's age lacked. He sketched quickly, now, his pencil flying over the paper, desperate to capture the sight in front of him, lest he never have a chance to again. 

He was still scribbling, having fallen into a bit of a trance-like state himself, when somebody near him cleared his throat lightly. Startled, Justin looked up and found himself staring at the same kid, who was glancing at his self-portrait on Justin's lap with a bemused expression. "Are you going to draw pictures of audience members for the talent show?" he grinned.

Justin fumbled with his sketchbook, suddenly feeling flustered. "I, uh ... no," he finally managed. "I mean, I'm not doing anything for it, just, um, painting scenery or whatever." He moved to hide the drawing, but the kid stopped him with an outstretched hand. "I'm sorry, it, um ... sometimes I just ... I didn't mean anything by it," Justin finished lamely.

"Don't apologize," the kid replied smoothly, tilting his head as if studying the page. He moved to flip through the rest of the sketchbook, but Justin pulled it away protectively and he backed off. Holding out a hand, he introduced himself instead: "Ethan Gold."

"Justin Taylor," Justin responded, clasping the outstretched hand with his own and grinning at the cordiality of it all. He pointed to the guitar in Ethan's other hand. "I take it this is your, er, talent?" He flushed at the unintended entendre, but luckily, Ethan didn't catch on. 

"Since I was about four," Ethan boasted, and Justin couldn't decide if he was impressed or taken aback by his confidence. He realized, though, that Ethan was pretty much the first person he'd met at Woodlands who'd given him the time of day -- except Brian, of course, but ... no, he wasn't going to think about him -- and that pretty much made the decision for him. He smiled and listened attentively while Ethan gave him a thorough run-down of his musical journey thus far: taught by his father on the instrument since before he even went to school, and lessons until his "rebellious teen years" when he decided that his instructors were stunting his progress with their teachings. "I don't really know what I'm going to do with it yet, career-wise," he finished, "but whatever it is, I'll be amazing."

"I'm sure you will be," Justin enthused, wondering if Ethan would find it rude that he didn't sound nearly as excited. The other boy didn't seem to notice, however, moving the conversation along as smoothly as he'd played his guitar.

"So what *are* you doing here, if not planning to stun and amaze everyone with your artistic abilities?" Ethan queried, drawing out the syllables of his last couple of words and making Justin grin.

He shrugged. "Just going wherever I'm needed." He prudently avoided mentioning anything regarding Bri - Counselor Kinney - fairly certain that Ethan wouldn't understand, anyway. "I'm more of a behind-the-scenes kind of guy," he explained.

"Well, if your card isn't already full, I could probably find a way to put your talents to use," Ethan offered. He flashed Justin a wide, friendly smile, and even in his current mood, Justin couldn't help but return it.

\--

Brian hunted through his duffel bag for a clean pair of pants, hair still freshly damp from the afternoon swim in the lake he'd partaken in during activities since his shower time had been cut short that morning. His clothing supply was slightly diminished after he'd let Emmett borrow a few articles, but Brian eventually located something suitable. He groped around for his hairbrush and deoderant, wanting to freshen up a bit before dinner, and stopped when his hand came in contact with a thick piece of paper.

He picked it up and unfolded it, stifling a sigh as he studied the drawing Justin had done of him. He remembered how gorgeous the kid had looked just sitting on the dock, how pleased he'd been when Brian had complimented him ... how soft his skin had been the first time they'd ... Brian exhaled a breath he hadn't been previously aware he'd been holding. 'Christ', he thought. He'd done what he needed to, hadn't he? Justin had gotten the drift; they - that is, whatever it was that had been between them - were/was over, and judging by the kid's lack of eye contact across the lodge at breakfast that morning (not that he'd been looking, of course), he was trying to make himself scarce. 'Be happy,' he told himself sternly. 'He listened.'

He stuffed the drawing back in his bag just as Michael came around the corner and trotted into the bunk house. "Tuna casserole tonight," he greeted. "One of your favorites."

"I'm not that hungry," Brian grumped, but allowed Michael to pull him by the arms into a standing position. His best friend studied his drawn face for a long moment, then grinned at him.

"You're always 'not that hungry'," he teased. Brian didn't react, and Michael sighed. "Okay, what is it?"

"What are you talking about?" Brian deadpanned, but Michael wasn't buying it.

"It's got something to do with that Justin kid, doesn't it?" he said, too aptly. "Are you still fucking him? Ted and Emmett said he was bothering you a few days ago. I thought you only had one-night stan-"

"Jesus!" Brian yelled, silencing Michael and probably worrying him even more. He didn't want to admit that his friend had struck a nerve, so he forced himself to calm down. "Can't I be in a foul mood for no apparent reason?" he snarked, slinging an arm around Michael's shoulders; the other boy looked relieved and ever-so-slightly confused. "C'mon, Mikey, let's grab some dinner before all the tuna casserole is gone."

They made their way to the cafeteria, Michael reiterating the finer points of an argument he'd had with one of his team members on whether Captain Astro could take on Spider-Man. Brian rolled his eyes but chimed in at all the right times with "mmms" and "uh-huhs", relieved that Michael's attention was focused on something other than whatever-the-fuck it was that had occured between him and Justin. They ended up in a fairly short dinner line, and presented their trays to Debbie, who pinched Michael's cheek and told Brian to "be careful". He wasn't entirely sure what that was about, but let it slide. 

It wasn't until they'd sat down and Michael had engaged both Emmett and Ted in his superhero-centric discussion that Brian allowed his eyes to wander; he swept his gaze methodically over at the table where Justin usually sat, surprised not to find him there. He turned back toward his friends, discreetly trying to peer over and around Ted and Emmett's heads for that shock of blond hair. 

"... that's what I told him, right, Brian? Brian?" The person-in-question snapped his head sharply to the right. "Captain Astro could totally be inducted into the Justice League, remember?" Michael said exasperatedly.

"Yeah," Brian replied flatly, straining his neck just enough for ... nope. Nothing. He speared a forkful of tuna casserole and told himself for the thousandth time that he'd done the right thing. Unfortunately for him, Emmett seemed to have caught on.

"That little blond niblet you've become so attached to joined the Talent Night crew," he explained, raising a begrudgingly well-kept and fairly all-knowing eyebrow at Brian. He scowled but Emmett breezed on. "He's an amazing little artist, isn't he?"

"I wouldn't know," Brian ground out, stabbing forcefully at a piece of hamburger meat.

"Mmm," Emmett shrugged. "Well, anyways, I saw a little of the scenery he was working on for one of the musical acts, and it's fabulous. The kid who's playing the guitar isn't bad, either; I think his name is Ethan."

"Oh, Ethan Gold," Ted volunteered. "He's in my group." He looked around and pointed at a table clear on the opposite side of the one Justin usually ate at. "The kid with the little goatee." 

Brian looked in spite of himself; but instead of focusing on Ethan, he gaped at Justin, sitting on the bench next to him and chatting and gesturing animatedly about something with the other members of the table. He must have cracked a joke because the two guys sitting across from him - one of them Ken Fischer, Joker impressionist extraordinaire, and another who looked suspiciously like Ken's brother or cousin - guffawed. Ethan, however, placed his hand on Justin's shoulder, then leaned in to whisper something in his ear. Brian's stomach felt leaden; he was happy that the kid had apparently found a group of friends, really he was, but ... something about the way Justin leaned into Ethan, the way Mr. Hotshot Guitarist's hand lingered on his shoulder set Brian's nerves on edge, and he hated himself for it. What did he care that the kid was probably a fag trying to get into Justin's pants? Justin wasn't his problem anymore; he'd seen to that.

Suddenly, he pushed his plate away, even less hungry than before, and stood up a bit shakily. "Where are you going?" Michael asked, but Brian was already striding out of the lodge. "What's up *his* ass?" he grumped to Ted and Emmett; the two friends looked at each other, and wisely said nothing.

\--

Justin leaned in to squint at the detailing he'd been doing on the backdrop for Ethan's Talent Night performance. His newfound friend hadn't been kidding when he'd promised to put Justin to work, which the boy was grateful for - having a purpose would help to keep his mind off of Brian.

It had been three days since their conversation, of sorts, in the shower, and if Brian was trying to do his part in making sure they didn't cross paths, it was pretty obvious. Try as he might, Justin could never completely avoid trying to pinpoint where Brian was in the lunchroom, or letting his gaze linger on the firm, angular jaw and smouldering eyes when he would absentmindedly flip through his sketchbook. He would even be a bit comforted by Brian's presence at the nightly campfires, content to watch the way the dancing flames were reflected in Brian's dark eyes.

He was still a little obsessed, truth be told, but he didn't think about Brian *every* second of the day, and prided himself on that much. 

"That's looking mah-velous," Ethan complimented jovially, coming up behind Justin with his guitar ever-present and in-hand. "Everyone's going to be jealous when they see how well this accents my playing."

Justin smiled; he was still a little shocked by how unapologetically Ethan could tout his own talents, but he was pleased by the ego boost, nonetheless. He was also grateful that Ethan was a little too blinded by his own dreams of stardom to be brought down by Justin's considerably more lackluster attitude. Instead, he'd simply befriended Justin, even inviting him to get acquainted with all of his other pals. Most of Ethan's buddies were similarly creative and a tiny bit eccentric, and in Justin, they saw a fellow artist.

"Okay, my little stars-in-the-making, it's time to get everything cleaned up!" Emmett announced, clapping his hands to get the campers' attention. Little else had been said about the incident with his obviously 'out' counselor's bunk being raided, although Justin doubted that the t-shirt Emmett was wearing with The Cure splashed across the front was his. Justin held little hope that whoever did it would be found, let alone punished with anything more than a slap on the wrist. At best, they'd be charged with destroying camp property because they'd spray-painted obscenities on the bunk itself. He started packing up his drawing supplies. 

"Well, that's looking fabulous," Emmett told him, walking up to the pair. "I love the way the name is stretched across a gigantic star as the header: 'ETHAN GOLD'. You could even add gold-coloured glitter," he suggested. Ethan grinned.

"I was thinking about doing that, actually," Justin smiled. They lulled into a short span of silence; Justin wanted to casually bring up Brian, but he couldn't think of how to do it without seeming completely obvious and/or pathetic. Fortunately, Emmett was just as nosy as he was.

"Had anymore tea-cured tummyaches?" he asked, and Justin bit back an embarrassed grin. "Don't let Counselor Kinney get to you too much, sweetie," he continued in a softer voice. "He can be kind of a loose cannon sometimes, honestly." He gave Justin a small wink and flounced off, leaving the blond smiling and Ethan goggling a little.

"What was that all about?" his friend asked. Justin just shrugged.

Brian didn't show up at dinner, and despite Emmett's warning and the steady stream of conversation at his table, Justin found himself a little worried. "You seem kind of distant all of the sudden," Ethan remarked after realizing that he wasn't paying attention for the fifth or sixth time. "Anything wrong?"

"Huh?" Justin asked, startled. Ethan raised his eyebrow; "n-no, I'm fine. Really," he enunciated, flashing the table a quick smile, complete with teeth. "I'm just kind of tired, or something."

"It was all that artistic genius you were unleashing today during Drama," Ethan cooed. "I could *feel* the raw energy pulsating from you."

"Er, yeah, that must have been it," Justin said with a small laugh. Ethan stopped pressing for details, and was soon off on another tangent involving something he'd read in "Rolling Stone" magazine, leaving Justin's mind (and gaze) free to wander. The table was positioned in such a way that anyone walking into the lodge-turned-cafeteria via the front double doors would have to pass by it. And as luck would have it, as Justin eyed the entrance, who should saunter through it but Brian, trailed by one of the other counselors. Their body language was discreet, and Justin hadn't known Brian long enough to be an expert or anything, but the expression on his face was very telling: Brian Kinney was freshly fucked.

Justin watched Brian dismiss the other counselor carelessly, and strode past Justin to make his way towards the center of the room, where Emmett and his other friends were sitting. He caught Justin staring at him out of the corner of his eye; some unreadable expression splashed across his face, before he looked away completely and sat down next to Counselor Novotny.

At that moment, Justin wished he really *did* have a recipe for a tea that cured stomachaches. He could have used a cup or ten.

\--

Brian rounded the corner to his bunk house, scowling a little as the neon-pink "FAGGOT" glared back at him, slightly visible even in the dark. He expected everybody to be asleep since it was well after curfew; as part of his counselor duties, he was occasionally expected to make a thorough check of the campground to make sure everyone and everything was accounted for. It was a pain in the ass, but as Brian was habitually an insomniac anyways, the duty afforded him a little extra quiet time before attempting to make himself go to bed.

Or at least, that's what it would have been if Counselor Wyzecki hadn't told one of his friends about the miracles Brian could perform with his mouth. One of the guy's cousins was also attending the camp, and had made eyes at Brian all through campfire. Michael had glared at him, in the disappointed, affronted way he did whenever Brian went off tricking; and the way he was glaring now as Brian set foot in his bunk.

"Still awake, Mikey?" he asked casually, setting down his flashlight and emptying out his pockets before stripping off his jeans. Michael glowered at him. "Not tired either, I take it?" he commented idly.

"How could you?" Michael finally said darkly.

"How could I what?" 

"How could you continue fucking everything that moves even when you know how dangerous it is?" he exploded, his voice a loud whisper since Emmett and Ted actually *were* asleep in the side opposite them. "Emmett gets harassed and everyone runs around telling fag jokes and you're tricking four times a day?!"

"Three," Brian said, then paused. "What is it exactly that you're pissed off about, Michael? It's not like I don't trick at home. It's not like I haven't fucked dozens of guys; and it's not as if you don't occasionally get off when I tell you about it. So what the fuck is your problem this time?"

"B-because it's camp," Michael replied, a bit thrown off by Brian's retort. "It's not safe and I hate to see you putting yourself in needless danger."

"Or maybe you just hate to see me in danger when you're not getting to join in. Is that closer to what you're really thinking, Mikey?" Brian asked, his face unreadable, his eyes blazing. 

Michael swallowed, then rolled over onto his side. "I-I'm just going to go to sleep. Goodnight, Brian." He closed his eyes and listened to the faint rustling sounds behind him, then half-turned back when he felt Brian spooning against him. "W-what ..."

"You want to know what it's like, Mikey?" Brian whispered, his breath hot against Michael's ear but making him shiver. Before he knew it, Brian had him pinned to his sleeping bag on his back, and long fingers were cupping the bulge in his pajama bottoms. "You want to see why it's worth the risk again and again?"

"N-no," Michael stammered, unconvincingly. He bucked into Brian's hand as it slipped inside of his pants, bypassing his underwear to stroke lightly at his cock which was, humiliatingly, fully aware of the situation. "I-it's not safe, Emmett and Ted are right here, they might wake up ..."

"Let 'em," Brian replied smoothly, fingers curling around Michael's shaft and making him gasp. "They might learn something." Michael swallowed hard and gazed up at Brian, expecting to see his best friend's rare goofy grin that he only reserved for when Michael was babbling happily on about his favourite comic book characters and the like. Instead, Brian's face was hard, impassive. His eyes were blank, and unlike the warmth provided by his body heat as he fairly laid on top of Michael, his demeanor was cold as ice.

"Brian ... B-Brian, stop!" Michael finally commanded, just a little louder than he'd intended. It seemed to have done the trick, so to speak, however; Brian's hand stilled. 

"What's the matter, Mikey?" he rasped, eyes a strange mixture of hurt and fury. "Never had a hand-job before?"

"Christ, Brian! Do you honestly think I want to be one of your zillions of conquests? Huh? A mindless fuck so you don't have to think about that Justin kid?" Jealousy rose like bile in the back of his throat. He chanced a look at his friend once more, whose face had grown withdrawn, tired, defeated.

"Fuck you, Michael," Brian said solemnly. He climbed off of the smaller boy and maneuvered himself to his own "side" of the makeshift mattress, as far away from Michael as he could move while still being on the same surface. Ten minutes later, the sound of Michael snoring was all that could be heard.

\--

"So like you'll have grounded into your head about a thousand more times before, during, and even after the trip, three people to a canoe, and life-jackets on at all times." Brian glared tiredly at the collective red team, avoiding eye contact with Justin, who looked a little peaked himself. 'Maybe he and that Ian kid were engaging in some after-hours activities themselves', he thought irritatedly, then told himself to shut the fuck up. "Any questions?"

"Yeah, do we have to use the buddy system when we get across the lake?" Chris Hobbs sneered, earning a couple of guffaws. It was the last thing Brian needed at the time, and he considered decking the obstinate little fuckhead, but decided that there would be too much paperwork involved afterwards if he did. 

"No, we just use corporal punishment if you run off and do anything stupid," Brian replied with practiced boredom. A few more snorts of laughter were elicited, including one from Justin's general direction, and Chris scowled. "Anyways, that's all I've got. Go away," Brian finished, making a dismissive shooing motion at the boys. As Chris walked away, Brian could hear him mutter to one of his friends, "fucking asshole's probably a fag like fucking Taylor." 

Justin scanned the room for Ethan, finally locating him and greeting the other boy with a smile. "Ready for lunch?" he asked him, watching Brian brush past him with a slight frown on his face.

"But of course," Ethan enthused, rubbing his stomach comically. "An artist cannot do his best work on an empty stomach, after all, n'est-ce que pas?" 

"Mais oui," Justin responded with a laugh. They made their way over to the lunch counter. "Hey there, Sunshine," the red-haired lady who'd introduced herself as Debbie greeted him. "Hungry for macaroni salad?"

"You bet," he grinned. Ethan held out his tray as well, looking bemused at Justin's Debbie-imposed nickname.

"You're looking happier today, honey," she noted. "I'm glad. It was depressing to see you so down in the dumps." Debbie pointed a finger sternly at Ethan. "You make sure he stays this way, you hear me?" she commanded.

"Yes, ma'am," Ethan replied, mock-saluting her. Debbie beamed her wide, red lipstick-laden smile and sent them on their way. "You have interesting friends," he laughed once they'd sat down with their trays.

"Who, Deb?" Justin asked, popping a macaroni noodle into his mouth and savouring the tangy flavor. He shrugged. "I didn't know her before I came to camp, actually. She's just really friendly. I think she's Counselor Novotny's mom, or something." 

Ethan nodded. "Did you know anybody before you got here?" he queried.

"Mmm, not a whole lot," Justin responded. "A couple of guys from my troop is all, really. Like, this one asshole named --" he trailed off; as if on cue, Chris Hobbs was en route to his own table, and about to pass by theirs; Justin groaned inwardly, bracing himself for a verbal assault.

"Hey, Taylor," Chris greeted; he made an attempt to 'accidentally' bump Justin's tray off of the table, but Justin grabbed ahold of it tightly. He glanced at Ethan, then back at Justin and sneered. "Having yourself a little fag parade?"

"Yes, and you're not invited," Ethan chimed in sarcastically, obviously sensing Justin tense up beside him. 

Chris glowered. "Mind your own business, fudgepacker."

"Why don't you mind yours?" Ethan replied. "Because the last time I checked, we were here first. You're on *our* territory." 

"Territory this," Chris replied scathingly, rubbing himself through his jeans. "But then, you'd both probably like that, huh, fags?"

"You know," Justin said loudly, not realizing that the argument had been overheard and was now being listened to by quite a few pairs of ears, "for a guy who considers himself straight, you sure know an awful lot about what fags do. Are you sure there isn't something you're not telling us, Chris? Go on, we're all listening!" Justin taunted. 

Chris was furious. "You motherfucker," he swore, grabbing the front of Justin's shirt and balling his hands into fists. He made to yank the boy out of his seat, but Brian was suddenly right there, pulling them apart. "Get your hands off of me," Chris snarled, but a venemous glare from Brian seemed to calm him down. He stared murderously at Justin for a long moment, then stalked off, his face a beet red and hands still clenched.

"I could have handled it," Justin complained after everyone had deemed the potential fight over and went back to their respective meals. He smoothed his shirt and looked up at Brian, who merely raised an eyebrow.

"I bet." 

Justin sighed. "Thank you, though." He figured Brian would simply walk off, but he strolled around to Justin's right side, opposite of Ethan, and leaned down until their faces nearly touched. Brian's breath came sweetly against his neck, and for a moment, Justin could almost imagine that they were back in the nurse's cabin. 

"Congratulations," Brian murmured in his ear. "On making yourself a *real* enemy." He straightened his posture and patted Justin on the shoulder; and then he was gone, and Justin almost wondered if he'd imagined the entire thing.


	6. On My Honor

The morning of the camp-out was rife with activity; it seemed nobody was able to avoid helping to pack lunches or canoes. Even Brian, who had been late to breakfast and moody during morning annoucements, had been hand-picked by Debbie to help her brown-bag the residents' next meal, which would be eaten once everybody had reached the campsite across the lake. He and Michael still weren't talking after the aborted hand-job, and when Ted and Emmett had mentioned there being an extra seat in their canoe, Michael had given Brian a wistful, side-long glance before agreeing to fill it. 

"What about you, baby?" Emmett had asked Brian at breakfast, the latter whom had obviously just come from a shower. "Will you be all right by yourself?"

"Contrary to popular belief, I do know how to play nice with others when the mood takes me," Brian snarked. Ted cracked a smile, but Michael just sat stonily, munching on his eggs. The tension between he and Brian was palpable, and Emmett, frustrated from trying to pick up the conversational slack for the last couple of days, sighed petulantly. After a few long moments of moody silence, Brian stood up.

"Where are you going, already?" Ted asked.

"Yeah, you've just barely sat down," Emmett continued. "Aren't you going to eat something?" He followed Brian's gaze, where a guy with jet black hair and an angled chin was making eyes at him. Emmett tsked. "Or you can just watch while somebody else eats," he grumped, not expecting an answer now that Brian was officially on the prowl; but Brian surprised him by turning back just long enough for the remaining Fabulous Four to catch a glimpse of the cheeky half-grin on his face.

"I just might do that," Brian said silkily, and sauntered off just as quickly as he'd arrived. Michael glared noticeably as his retreating backside. 

"Honey, whatever it is that you two are up in arms about, I'm sure it'll all blow over soon," Emmett said to him, trying once again to mediate.

Michael pushed his plate away. "Brian and I had a ... disagreement," he explained lamely. "We were arguing about how careless he's being. I'm just worried about him," he rationalized. "I don't want anything to happen to him, you know?"

Emmett reached across the table and patted Michael's hand. "It's a noble thing to worry," he said, lips curling into a small, sympathetic smile. "But Brian is a big boy. And from what I know of him, the more somebody tells him what to do, the more likely it is that he'll do the exact opposite."

"I guess," Michael sighed. He hesitated for a moment, and then pressed on. "I kind of, um, I like him, too," he admitted. "Like, he's been my best friend since we were fourteen, but sometimes, I wish he'd see me as something more." He looked down at the table and then back at Emmett and Ted worriedly. "It's not too obvious, is it?"

"Oh, no," Emmett replied just a little too quickly. "Not at all."

"We would have had no idea if you hadn't spelled it out for us," Ted added, with thinly-veiled sarcasm. 

"That's why it bothers me so much when he goes off with everyone and their brother," Michael continued, obviously too lost in his own thoughts to notice the tightening of Ted's jaw or Emmett's poorly-feigned naivete. "Because I'm grateful that he's my friend, but at the same time, I want him to look at me and think I'm attractive, too. But if we did ... you know, it might ruin any relationship we may have had altogether." Michael rubbed his temples with his fingers and sighed for the umpteenth time. "I wonder sometimes if anyone'll ever want me." 

Emmett just clucked his tongue and took a sip of juice. Ted blinked a couple of times and bravely ventured forth. "They will," he asserted quietly. "I mean, maybe somebody already does." 

"Right," Michael snorted. "I'm not hot, I'm a total geek, and I can't even come to Boy Scout camp without my mother tagging along. What's there to like?" He could practically hear Brian chiding that self-pity made his dick soft, as clearly as if his friend were still sitting next to him and whispering in his ear. And then Ted's voice cut into Brian's imagined one.

"You're worth more than you know, Michael," he said a tad brusquely, and then stood up, grabbing the nearly-empty jug of orange juice. "Gonna go get a refill," he mumbled, and then hurried off towards the kitchen area.

\--

Justin groaned as the tiny canoe he was currently sharing with Ethan and Ken bumped and swayed in the water. It was a clear shot across the lake to what would be their makeshift campsite for the evening, but for somebody who had a history of getting carsick, the choppy boat ride was doing nothing to assuage his already queasy stomach. He'd been nervous about returning to his shared bunk house with Chris Hobbs the previous evening, so Ethan had offered to let him move to his. "It's just Ken and Mark and me at the moment," he'd explained. "There's always room for one more." So Justin had collected his things and made the switch; he didn't mention it to anyone, fairly certain that the Scout Masters wouldn't have wanted to go through the trouble of making it official, and pretty sure they wouldn't have cited bullying as a good enough excuse for it, anyways. Part of him worried that Chris would inform them, but he mostly assumed the other boy would be glad not to have to share his surroundings with a fag.

"You okay, Justin?" Ethan asked, dipping his oar into the water. Justin mimicked his actions, propelling the small boat forward; Ken sat in the middle, facing Ethan, but craned his neck to see what the problem was. 

"Yeah, I'm fine," he replied, moving the oar through the water awkwardly. Swim team was one thing, but he'd never really gotten a feel for any other water-centric activities. His father's business friends had taken him yachting a couple of times, and it had seriously failed to impress him or his stomach, which started churning anew when Justin happened a glance to his right and saw Chris with Isaac and Shawn. 'Fag', Chris mouthed, and Justin pressed his lips together and turned back towards the task at hand with renewed vigor. He was relieved that Brian's canoe, occupied by him and two other counselors, was far enough behind that he wouldn't be able to discreetly glance at him by accident. 

Nearly an hour or so passed before the fleet of canoes reached their destination; Ken hurried off to meet up with Mark. "We'll grab you guys' sleeping bags when we see them," he called to Justin and Ethan before jogging to the large paddle boat that a couple of the Scout Masters had used to bring all of their supplies over with. "That's totally cheating," Ethan remarked, stepping out of the cramped canoe and stretching his legs once it reached the shore. Justin started to follow suit, but misjudged the height of the edge and tripped, falling into a clump of wet sand. 

"Here," Ethan said, grimacing sympathetically and proferring his hand; Justin grasped it and hauled himself to his feet, surveying the damage. His jeans already muddy, he wiped his hands on the legs and decided that this overnight camp-out couldn't go by any faster.

The campers broke out their sack lunches almost as soon as everybody had touched base on land. Justin wished people weren't quite so impatient so he'd be able to grab a clean pair of pants out of his overnight bag, but as it was, he sat idly munching his turkey and cheese sandwich while Ethan chatted with Mark and Ken. Almost on impulse, he chanced a look around for Brian a couple of times, but came up with nothing. "You gonna come with us to the rope swing after all the tents get set up?" Ken asked him at one point. 

"Rope swing?" Justin asked. 

Mark nodded. "We've been tryin' to convince Ethan to come, but he insists on sitting around playing his guitar all day," he teased.

"Practice makes perfect," Ethan retorted, but he was smiling as he said it. He looked at Justin; "isn't that right?"

"Yeah," Justin responded noncommittally. Then, to Mark and Ken, "count me out, too, I guess. There's some really nice scenery on this side of the lake; I think I might spend some time alone to draw." He wasn't sure why he was intentionally taking himself out of what was apparently one of the most popular activities on the trip, but he really didn't feel like being around a bunch of rowdy boys. He hadn't felt like coming at all, but attendance had been more or less mandatory.

He helped the boys pitch the four-person tent - Woodlands had supplied enough for everyone, and a few dozen blue, red, and green triangular-shaped dwellings soon dotted the otherwise unextraordinary land. The main camping area was on one side of the dock; on the other, a short expanse of beach led, further-down, to the foretold rope swing and what Justin supposed was a popular swimming spot. He waited impatiently for the Scout Masters to lay out a few more ground rules before cutting them loose, and a makeshift afternoon of activities began. Justin grimaced at the now dried mud all over his jeans; he'd never been an exceptionally clean kid, but his pants were stiff in places they shouldn't have been, and it made him uncomfortable. 

He stole into the blue tent he'd helped to set up, crawling over his friends' sleeping bags to his own. The weather was sufficiently warmer than it had been earlier in the day, so he shimmied out of his pants and pulled on a pair of khaki shorts. Slipping back into his shoes, the insides still warm, he reached into the bottom of his bag and pulled out his sketchbook; a couple of pencils were routinely kept between the spiral at the top, and he clambered back out the flap of the makeshift shelter serving as a doorway, zipping it up once he was outside. 

He walked out towards the dock, glancing at the way the canoes, tied awkwardly to it, bobbed in the water. Occasionally, one would bump into another, all of them trying unsuccessfully to fall into line. Their behavior, inanimate and unintentional though it was, mimicked Justin's own attempts to conform to the heterosexual expectations of camp and school and his current life, and he sat down near the water's edge, deciding that was enough reason to warrant drawing them. His hand took off almost as soon as the tip of the pencil his fingers clutched hit the paper; he hardly looked at the lines he was making, trusting the flicks of his pencil to bring every scrape and scratch together in some more legible form. Drawing soothed him, made him feel calm and collected and at peace with his surroundings. But at the same time, the knowledge that he was *creating* something gave him a high that even the greatest orgasm in the world couldn't hope to reproduce. Although, Justin thought ruefully, squinting at the small assortment of sun-dappled canoes now residing on the page, sex with Brian came pretty fucking close. 

 

"You got a light?" a voice fairly far off to his left queried. Justin's ear pricked up, and then his heart sank when he realized who it belonged to; Chris Hobbs, flanked by his two goons, was walking towards him, shoving a pack of cigarettes into his pocket. Justin bowed his head, hoping in vain that he'd be left alone, but wasn't terribly surprised to hear Chris jeer a few seconds later. "Well, look who didn't show up last night. You don't like us anymore, Taylor?" he snickered. Justin didn't respond, but closed the sketchpad and got to his feet.

"Drawing pictures of somebody's cock?" Chris snorted, moving close enough to make a grab for it. Justin took a couple of steps backward, keeping his eyes warily on Chris. Shawn Fielding moved around behind him as if to block him in, and he sucked in a panicked breath. 

"Leave me alone, Hobbs," he said, wishing it came out without the slight quaver in his voice. He tried to dart away from the side, but Isaac moved around there, closing him in completely. Chris shoved him backwards and he stumbled, and then was thrust forward again by Shawn. 

"Why'd you move out, fag?" Hobbs hissed, his eyes taking on a dangerous glint. "Joined up with the other fairies? I wonder what the Scout Masters would have to say about that." 

"Why do you care, anyways?" Justin replied defensively. "One last fag to worry about, right? Or maybe that's what bothers you," he continued, wondering vaguely where he was getting the nerve. "No more like-minded company, huh, Chris?"

"What did you just say?" Chris asked, shoving Justin again, albeit much harder this time. But Justin was through being harassed; he shoved him back with the same intensity.

"You heard me," he said. "You're just pissed off because the *other* homo isn't around for anymore freebies. That's what you were really hoping for, isn't it, Hobbs?" he taunted. "Another hand-job?"

"You're fucking dead," Chris vowed, balling up his fist; it came sailing at Justin's face, and before he could duck out of the way, Shawn had him by the arms. The coppery taste of his own blood was on Justin's tongue a moment later; he felt it drip down towards his chin. 

"Let me go," he demanded, trying to pull away from Shawn, but it only seemed to spur the other boys on more. All of the sudden, Justin was being dragged into the water, arms flailing and legs splashing. It was a futile struggle, however, being held by two boys even larger than he was; when the water was nearly up to his chest, he felt himself being tossed onto his back. He sank underneath for a moment, but quickly righted himself, preparing to get his bearings back. However, just as he started to stand, he felt hands pressing on his head, holding him under; hard fingers held him in place as he struggled, and pulled him up, sputtering, a few moments later.

"Let me go," he yelled again, balling his hands into fists and trying ineffectually to land a jab on Isaac. It had little effect, but the attempt at defending himself seemed to egg the other boys on. Once again, he was shoved underneath the water; he felt his shirt rip as he twisted the wrong way, trying to free himself. Pulled up once again, he coughed and struggled to get his hands free, if nothing else, to wipe the water out of his eyes. 

"Fucking faggot," he heard Chris mutter behind him. He started to turn around, his mind barely registering the flash of white as it raced towards his head. It was the last thing he saw before everything went black.

\--

Brian trudged up the beach, heaving a sigh. Most of the camp was over near the rope swing, including Michael, Ted and Emmett; and while Brian doubted that Ted or Emmett would snub him, his fight-turned-near-sexual-experience with Michael had made for an awkward tension between their normally camradrie-filled group, and Brian didn't like to hang around where he wasn't wanted. It was a big reason he'd taken black-haired, blue-eyed Andy up on his offer to share his canoe, even *after* he'd fucked him.

He wandered around the glut of canoes surrounding the dock, trying to decide how to pass the time until the Scout Masters' agenda made the decision for him. It was a bad time of day to sunbathe, and Brian had never been much for recreational reading, nor did he have anybody at home to write letters to. 

"Fucking faggot," he heard faintly off in the distance; his brow furrowed - the voice was unnervingly familiar. His head whipped around, his gaze coming to rest on a small collection of campers standing a little more than waist-high in the lake, their backs to him. One of them held an oar, and as they turned ever so slightly, arguing with the others, Brian realized that it had a small spot of red on the paddle. 

"What the fuck did you do that for?" one of the other kids demanded. Brian watched and listened, already feeling uneasy about the situation unfolding in front of him.

"He had it coming to him," the boy with the oar retorted, and with horror, Brian realized that it was Chris Hobbs. Was Justin back at the rope swing, he wondered wildly, trying to remember if he'd seen him earlier, and realizing that he hadn't. 

"Look, I know you hate him, but we're gonna fuckin' get in tro-" the first kid started, before the second one -- Shawn Fielding, Brian remembered from the swim test -- cut in.

"Uh, guys, he hasn't come back up yet," he said. He reached into the water and grunted a little before hauling up something; the shock of blond hair was all Brian needed to see before springing into action. He waded quickly into the water towards the group of boys, yanking the oar out of Chris Hobbs' hands and tossing it aside with little protest. "It - we didn't mean to-" Shawn began, but Brian silenced him with a glare.

"Get one of the Scout Masters," he demanded. "Now." Shawn and Isaac took off; Chris just stood to the side sullenly as Brian slid his arms underneath Justin's neck and knees, groaning under the dead weight of the boy as he cradled him safely to his chest. 'No, not dead,' he told himself furiously. 'He *isn't*. I'm not- not going to let him be.' 

He set Justin down on the ground, alarmed to see his arm streaked lightly with blood; he had a pretty good idea now of how Chris Hobbs had used the oar. Wanting to avoid infecting the wound, no matter how large or small, he quickly stripped off his own t-shirt and gingerly placed it underneath Justin's head, tilting it back and sweeping two fingers into Justin's slack mouth to check his breathing. "No. No, no, no, no," he muttered pleadingly to himself, realizing that there was no breath forthcoming. He pulled the boy's shirt up, exposing his stomach and ribs, mentally going through the checklist of precautions to take before beginning CPR. 

By now, Shawn and Isaac must have located the Scout Masters, because several people were now hurrying to the scene, including Michael, who pushed himself to the forefront of the group and sat down beside Brian. "Give them some room; don't crowd them!" he shouted to several of the people who'd followed. He glanced at Brian, who gave him a discreet, grateful glance before bending down to begin mouth-to-mouth on Justin. 'Two sharp breaths, quick and forward abdominal thrusts, check for a pulse', he recited. Justin had a pulse, he was relieved to find, but still wasn't breathing on his own. Brian sealed his mouth over the boy's once more, ignoring the small moue of disgust he heard in the background. Four breaths ... five ... six ... 'c'mon, Justin, fucking come *on*,' he thought desperately. 

He was about to reposition his hands for another round of abdominal thrusts when the boy began coughing violently; quickly, Brian helped him to sit up, rapping him on the back a couple of times as Justin coughed and sputtered up a mouthful of water. Brian's hand lingered on his back, and Justin blinked a couple of times before glancing up at him, his eyes watery. "B-Brian," he whispered hoarsely.

"Justin," Brian replied, his mouth curling into a soft, relieved smile. Justin wrapped his arms around the other man's waist, pulling him into an impromptu hug that Brian found himself returning after only a moment's hesitation. "You're okay," he found himself murmuring, more to convince himself than anything, he found. He loosened his grasp on the boy, not realizing it was quite so tight. "You're safe, now." He glanced up at the group of onlookers, acknowledging them for the first time, and then again at Michael, whose expression was unreadable. 

"I'll grab the first aid kit from one of the Scout Master's tents," he said, glancing at the smear of blood on his friend's arm. "What, uh, what happened, exactly?"

"I'll tell you later," Brian replied; he wasn't entirely sure of all the specifics himself, but he had a feeling he'd know them like the back of his hand once he'd filled out all of the appropriate paperwork that such an incident entailed. He finally extricated himself completely from Justin's grasp, picking up his own t-shirt and pressing it lightly against the back of the boy's head. "It's probably a minor concussion," he explained. "How are you feeling?"

"Kind of dizzy," Justin replied, reaching around to hold the t-shirt in place himself. He glanced sheepishly at the assembled crowd, who had started to thin out a little finally. "Sorry for causing a scene. And for ruining your shirt."

"It wasn't your fault," Brian murmured. He noticed Justin shiver and was immediately concerned. "You cold?"

"Yeah, and my nerves are probably kind of frazzled," Justin said, laughing a little. "I just changed clothes, too, can you believe that?" He sneezed and then wrinkled his nose. "Thank you, Counselor Kinney," he continued, getting to his feet shakily. "You saved my life." He shot Brian a surreptitious glance before heading off towards his tent.

\--

Brian zipped up the flap on the red tent he'd just glanced into, coming up short once again. He realized, once Michael arrived with the first aid kit, that he had no idea where Justin was staying. That should have been a big enough deterrent from following him, but ... the kid had a slight concussion that he needed to look at, he told himself against his better judgment.

After what seemed like an eternity, he finally stumbled across Justin in a blue tent. "I came to check on your ... head," he trailed off, taking in the boy's nude form. Justin's knees were drawn up to his chest, his hair still damp and mussed. "Thought you were getting dressed."

"I was," Justin replied, "but I'm tired of fucking up all of my clothes. Do you think anyone would notice if I just walked around naked for the rest of camp?" His eyes twinkled teasingly, and Brian found himself relieved that the boy felt good enough to crack jokes. He made his way over to Justin and plunked down beside him, reaching out a hand to gingerly feel the back of his head. "It's not even bleeding anymore," Justin noted. "And it doesn't hurt much."

"That's good," Brian replied. He almost told Justin he was lucky, but decided against it. "What happened? Why'd he do it this time?" He knew that Justin knew what he was referring to. 

"He just cornered me and wouldn't leave me alone," Justin shrugged, staring angrily down at the ground. "He kept bothering me because I moved my stuff to Ethan's -" he didn't notice Brian flinch when he mentioned his friend's name - "bunk. So I told him to go away and then I'm being dragged into the lake. I guess he hit me in the head, too." He swallowed and looked up. "If you hadn't gotten there, I could have drowned."

Brian exhaled, not sure what to say. "I ... yeah. Yeah," he replied. "But you didn't. And that's the important thing." He realized that staring at Justin's barely-covered groin was doing nothing to help his just-checking-your-head-injury cause, and looked up, his eyes lingering on the light bruising around Justin's throat. "Did he do this, too?" he asked, and Justin nodded. "And ... this?" Brian asked in a near-whisper, bringing his hand up to cup Justin's chin and brush his thumb over the boy's split lip. Justin's hands closed around one of his, and he finally allowed himself to stare into Justin's eyes.

"I don't want to talk about him, anymore," Justin murmured. He leaned into Brian, their lips just about to touch ... when the sound of the tent flap being unzipped startled them both. 

"Hey, Brian, one of the Scout Masters said to tell you that there's an incident report you've got to fill ou- oh," Michael trailed off lamely, taking in the scene with an all-knowing tsk. 

"Counselor Kinney was just checking on my head wound," Justin offered helpfully, pulling on dry clothes while Brian stood up. 

"Yeah, I think I know what Counselor Kinney was checking," Michael replied, rolling his eyes. "I've known him a little longer than you have, kid." Justin shrugged and fished around for his underwear. He punched Brian playfully on the arm as he made his way out of the tent, though, and Brian returned it with a small grin.

Brian dutifully filled out the incident report, citing that this wasn't the first 'problem' between Chris Hobbs and Justin and that, given the often one-sided animosity of the numerous ordeals, it would be within the Scout Masters' jurisdiction to send the little bastard home. However, his higher-ups didn't agree. "What are you talking about?" Brian demanded. "Hobbs has been consistently harassing Justin Taylor, to the point of causing him physical harm that could very well have ended up with far more serious repercussions. He has done nothing but antagonize the kid, probably for much longer than they've both been at Woodlands, and -"

"Be that as it may," Scout Master Smith - who was about as 'fond' of Brian as Brian was of pussy - replied airily, "Mr. Hobbs has just as much of a right to finish out his time at Woodlands as Mr. Taylor. Besides," he sneered, "I am certain it's not as 'one-sided' as Taylor makes it out to be."

"But it is," Brian said heatedly. "I've seen it myself."

"Your concern is unnnecessary for the lack of severity this situation involves," Smith replied smoothly. "We will be sending a letter home to both Mr. Hobbs' and Mr. Taylor's parents detailing the trouble. It will then be up to them to decide on a course of punishment."

"But Justin doesn't deserve to be punished for anything!" Brian shouted. "Christ, he's been beaten up, verbally harassed, and very nearly drowned. How much more fucking punishment does he need to endure?"

"You're overstepping your boundaries, Counselor Kinney," Smith snapped. "The course of reprimand has been decided, and that's all anyone needs to hear about it." Brian clenched his jaw and glared, but said nothing.

For supper that night, the kitchen staff had cooked up gigantic pots of chilli to take with them across the lake, which prompted numerous farting contests, much to the Scout Masters' collective dismay. "It's like the beginning of 'Blazing Saddles'," Michael laughed as the symphony of flatulence continued well into the meal. "Starring the amazing Gene Wilder." 

"Who?" Justin asked, having managed to weasel his way near Brian during dinner, since tables were not a luxury - or barrier - on this side of the lake. 

"He was before your time," Brian murmured, puffing on a spoonful of chilli before popping it into his mouth. 

Justin scoffed and nudged him lightly with his foot. "I'm not *that* much younger than you," he retorted. He was reminded of the conversation they'd had before Brian had agreed to take his virginity; and judging by the silly, lopsided smile Brian was now sporting, so was he.

Noticing that the conversation had shifted elsewhere without him, Michael cleared his throat. "He was in a lot of stuff in the seventies," he explained. "He's best known for playing Dr. Frankenstein and Willy Wonka, though." 

"Oh, 'Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory'!" Justin exclaimed. "I loved that movie when I was a kid. My mom read the book to me when I was younger, too." He and Michael were soon doing their best impressions of the Oompa Loompas, and Brian rolled his eyes, albeit good-naturedly. He wasn't sure why, but he really liked seeing them get along. 

After a rowdy (and stinky) campfire, one of the campers broached the idea of playing Blind Man's Bluff, and after several of the boys chimed in to convince the Scout Masters to extend curfew for another hour or so, they finally did. There was a small commotion while the tents were raided for flashlights, but soon, pretty much everyone was running around trying to find suitable hiding places. Brian stayed behind to help put out the bonfire, not surprised to see Justin lagging behind. "Aren't you going to go play hide 'n' seek?" he queried. 

Justin snorted and sashayed towards him, looking around to make sure nobody else was paying attention. "I wasn't in the mood," he murmured, his breath lingering on Brian's neck. "But if you'd like, I'm sure I could hide something for *you* to seek."

Brian couldn't put out the campfire fast enough.


	7. On My Honor

Justin hummed to himself quietly, making long, careful strokes with the brush in his hand over the large piece of tagboard serving as a makeshift backdrop for Ethan's upcoming talent show performance. He'd already traced the header in thick, black paint, and was in the process of filling in the lettering with a deep red (Ethan's request). Underneath the name, placed in front of a large, soon-to-be-glittery star, were three sketches of Ethan playing his guitar in various positions. They were so far only outlined in pencil, but finished, the backdrop would easily be the most intricate piece of artwork at the show. 

Truth be told, however, Justin's mind was anywhere but painting or amateur talent shows. When they'd returned to Woodlands, Debbie had somehow gotten wind of his head injury (Justin suspected that Michael's big mouth had something to do with it), and insisted that he get it checked out by one of the camp nurses. He'd tried to insist right back that he was fine, thank you very much, but she'd just dumped a spoonful of macaroni-and-cheese into his tray and brandished the sticky, orange spoon at him threateningly. He'd known better than to argue with that.

The nurse had examined and questioned him thoroughly, clucking her tongue maternally as Justin gave a quick, scaled-down summary of the incident. He was embarrassed to have it flaunted, annoyed that he hadn't been able to stand up for himself, even a bit humiliated at Brian having to save him over and over again, as if he were some weak little faggot. Fortunately, the nurse eventually deemed him physically sound and wrote a few things down in a binder that she wouldn't let him see. "You don't have a concussion," she told him, "but I would suggest toning down the activity level for the next couple of days just to be on the safe side. Minimal physical exertion and all that." Justin nodded, but had to bite back a grin at that, glibly thinking about how he'd already broken that agreement on the other side of the lake during the remainder of the camp-out. (It didn't help that the nurse had led him into the very same room in which Brian had fucked the virginity out of him, either.) 

On his hands and knees, splayed across Brian's sleeping bag and chest heaving as he tried to keep the noise to a minimal panting, Brian had taken him, hard and fast until he was begging "pleasepleaseplease" through clenched teeth, and finally squeezing his sphincter muscles around Brian's cock to sustain the intensity of the moment as long as he could. He'd brought Brian off like that, biting Justin's shoulder and muttering Justin's name and a couple of well-placed "oh, fucks" for good measure. Afterwards, Brian had even indulged him in a few minutes of long, languid kisses before sending him off to bed. He'd made it into his pajamas just as Ethan and the others were returning from Blind Man's Bluff, and pretended to be asleep so as to avoid any questions.

"That looks amazing," Ethan enthused in present-time, walking over to see how much progress Justin was making. He plucked a few strings of his ever-present guitar absentmindedly. Ethan had been a good friend to him, Justin decided, and he was grateful for it. Not terribly observant more often than not, Ethan had nonetheless heard about Justin's and Chris' latest brawl and made sure he was okay. He was one of the only people at Woodlands who'd witnessed first-hand how one-sided Chris' attacks were, and Justin was relieved not to haev to explain away his own assumed portion of the blame to the other boy. He was also secretly relieved that he'd found a male friend at camp that he wasn't necessarily attracted to. Ethan wasn't exactly a troll, but Justin had no designs on him - he wasn't even sure whether Ethan was gay. And quite honestly, Justin realized that he didn't want them to be anything but friends, even on the off-chance that he was. 

"Thanks," he replied finally, going over a section of the "H" with only a thin layer of red on it. "I'm thinking I'll make your shirt the same color to really make the header pop," he explained, gesturing at the makeshift canvas. 

Ethan nodded, obviously impressed by the penciled likenesses of himself. "It's incredible," he complimented again. "The best one here, easily. Your talent is wasted on these bourgeois excuses for talents," he boasted, his voice taking on a silly-sounding regal tone that finally made Justin crack a bemused smile. "How's your head?" he eventually asked.

"Still in one piece," Justin shrugged, sitting back on his heels to survey his work; it *was* impressive, he had to admit.

Ethan was shaking his head. "That guy's got some nerve," he announced disgustedly. "I mean, where does he get off calling you a fag anyways, you know?"

"Yeah," Justin interjected quickly, wanting to steer the conversation back to less unintentionally incriminating territory. "He's a jerk. But honestly, I'm just relieved that he didn't hit me any harder with the paddle; it could have, like, totally fucked up my motor skills or something." Inwardly, he added, 'and thank God for Brian'. 

"Man," Ethan scoffed. "If he'd done that, I would have sued - for impeding your artistic genius or something." He began plucking his way through something experimental-sounding on his guitar, and Justin shrugged and started filling in the letter "A".

\--

Michael's hands shook as he walked into the cafeteria. Far from being cold, he grabbed up a tray to keep himself occupied with holding onto something. He held it out to his mother, one of the lunch servers for the day, who took one look at him and went into full-blown neurotic parent-mode. "Christ, Michael, what's wrong?" she demanded, dumping salad into his tray nonetheless. "You're shaking! Do you have a cold?"

"No, Ma," he replied. "It's just that it's the third Tuesday of the month." When Debbie's eyes neglected to spark with recognition, he explained, "you know, when the new shipment of comics come in at Buzzy's shop." 

"Oh, Michael," Debbie sighed, now understanding fully. "She set the salad tongs down, then reached over and smacked her son on the side of the head with her free hand. 

"Ow," Michael protested, rubbing the spot. "What was that for?"

"For scaring your poor mother into thinking something was actually wrong," she snapped, and then broke into a wide smile. "Hey there, Sunshine!" she exclaimed.

"Hey, Deb," Justin replied, coming up beside Michael and handing over his own tray. He glanced at the older boy and grinned. "What's up?"

"Michael's heart-rate, for one thing," Debbie laughed. "Third Tuesday of every month, he goes into cardiac arrest as soon as the store opens. It's positively killing him not to be able to get there for another week."

"Ma," Michael growled, glaring at a very amused Justin. "It's when the comic book store I frequent back home gets its new shipments in," he elaborated begrudgingly.

"You read comics, Sunshine?" Debbie chimed in again.

"Not a whole lot," Justin shrugged. "I mean, I've looked at them on occasion to study the drawings, but other than that, no." He continued snickering at Michael.

"Ah, well, Michael here loves 'em," Debbie continued, much to her son's chagrin. "Hasn't been able to get enough of them for about as long as he's been able to read; and goes through withdrawls like a nicotine addict without a good fix."

"Ma, give it a rest!" Michael cried, poking Justin in the ribs, but doing nothing to quell the fact that the blond was laughing openly at him now.

"His favorite's Captain Astro," Debbie said before handing the trays back over the counter. "Always has been, always will be."

"Captain Astro, no shit," Justin said seriously, turning to Michael with only a small smile. 

"You've heard of him?" Michael queried, wary of being mocked again. 

"Yeah, I've read a couple of issues, even," Justin shrugged. "Really interesting stuff." 'And kind of gay', he wanted to add, but didn't. He waved to a couple of his friends and nodded at Michael, who started looking around, hoping to spot Brian. He took a couple of steps backwards, trying to crane his neck to look over in the far corner of the room, and nearly collided with somebody.

"Whoa, hey, sorry," a male voice boomed softly. He saw a beefy hand shoot out to keep his tray from toppling over, and looked up into warm, coffee-colored eyes and an apologetic expression. "Are you okay?" the guy asked, and Michael found himself flushing a little, for some reason. 

"Yeah, fine. And it's, uh, it's my bad, really," he stammered, swallowing hard and taking in the guy's sturdy build. He looked familiar; Michael had seen him around briefly at campfire and such, but they'd never really talked. "It's Counselor, uh, Bruckley, right?" he asked.

"Bruckner, actually," the guy said with a hearty laugh; then, dropping his voice a few notches, added, "but you can call me Ben."

"Nice to meet you, Ben," Michael grinned, feeling kind of giddy when Ben helped him steady his tray in one hand and shook the other firmly. "I'm, uh, Michael," he added quickly. "But you can call me ... Michael; all my friends do!" It sounded incredibly dorky, but Ben was nice enough to laugh. Out of the corner of his eye, Michael finally spotted Brian, who was walking towards their usual table. "And speaking of friends, there's Brian, now."

"Ah, Brian ... Counselor Kinney?" Ben asked. 

Michael nodded. "You know him?"

Ben smiled ruefully, his expression hard to read. "Oh, everyone knows Brian." He squared his shoulders and patted Michael's arm, sending a shiver of excitement up his spine, and nearly dropping his tray again. It wobbled in his hands and Ben chuckled. "Anyways, I'll let you eat in peace before that ends up on the floor for real, this time." He turned to go and then added, "have a nice day, Michael." 

Michael's hands continued to shake as he made his way over to Brian, albeit for an entirely different reason than comic book withdrawl.

\--

Night fell, and Brian slipped out of campfire a few minutes early to start making his assigned rounds before turning in himself for the evening. He started in the lodge, checking to make sure supplies were put away and even that the materials being used for dodgeball the next day were blown up, and continued on, circling around the nurse's cabin, already abandoned for the night.

It was a good forty-five minutes before he started checking the bunkhouses, stopping after the first couple and leaning against a tree. Making sure nobody was around, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes he'd swiped from one of the guys he'd fucked a few days prior and lit one up. He inhaled deeply and held it for several seconds, finally letting it out and watching the visible cloud of fog made by his exhalation dissipate.

"It's cold out tonight."

Brian nearly jumped out of his skin. "What the fuck are you doing out here?" he demanded, though admittedly relieved that it was only Justin who'd caught him smoking.

"I could ask you the same thing," Justin grinned cheekily.

"No, you couldn't," Brian snapped grumpily. "Because I actually have a reason to be out scouring the grounds after-hours; whereas you are supposed to be all snug as a bug in your sleeping bag."

"Hm," Justin shrugged, unphased. He plucked the cigarette out of Brian's fingers and took a puff, eyes still glinting mischievously. "I bet you could use some company."

"I bet you could shut the fuck up," Brian retorted, but he made no move to push Justin away when the boy shuffled closer. "How did you even know I had night duty, anyways? Are you still stalking me?" he continued, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek.

"I have my ways," Justin said breathily, and whether it was the cold weather or their now extremely close proximity that made him sound so fucking wanton, Brian didn't know, but he didn't trust himself to reply, for fear of incriminating himself as well. Fortunately, Justin didn't seem to care.

"You can have your way, too ... with me," he whispered, and then closed the distance between their mouths before Brian's vocal chords did decide to function properly again. The boy dropped the half-smoked cigarette into the dirt path and stomped it out, and Brian may have protested his wastefulness had the kid not snaked his tongue out to slide against his own. Slim fingers grasped his shoulders, eventually moving downward to fumble with his fly. "My dick is going to freeze off," Brian grumbled ruefully as Justin reached inside of his open pants to fondle him.

"I'll keep it warm for you," Justin purred, dropping to his knees and pulling out Brian's cock, stroking it between an "o"-shaped sheath formed with his fingers. He laved the head with his tongue and Brian groaned, having to consciously will his knees not to buckle. He bent one leg at the knee and placed his booted heel against the tree trunk for better balance, shivering and then letting out a short gasp as Justin took him all in, swallowing around his cock a few times for good measure. Long fingers tugged gently on his hair as Justin's own hand nuzzled Brian's pubes, eventually sliding down into his pants to massage his balls. Justin's tongue brushed purposefully over his slit, and Brian bit his own tongue hard enough to draw blood to keep himself from crying out. 

"Fuck," he hissed. "Okay ... okay," he finally managed, pulling his cock out of Justin's swollen mouth with none-too-small of an effort. He hauled the kid up by the shoulders, delighting in the moue of surprise Justin made when their mouths connected again. Their tongues slid together wetly, Brian tasting himself on Justin's, and it inflamed his senses to a fever pitch. "Hot," he muttered, rubbing his hand roughly over Justin's crotch before tearing open his pants and shoving them and his underwear down to his knees. "How's your head?" Brian murmured, maneuvering Justin to stand, turned against the tree, then fumbling in his pockets for a condom and lubricant.

"Engorged," Justin grinned, and Brian snorted and wrapped his hand around the kid's sizeable erection, squeezing it a couple of times. Justin hummed his approval huskily. "Fuck me, Brian," he moaned softly. "Been ... waiting all day for this." 

"You want me to fuck your tight little ass?" Brian said hotly into Justin's ear, then suckled the lobe. He trailed his tongue down the arch of the boy's neck; "want me to pound into you so hard that you want to scream?"

"Do it," Justin gasped, biting his lip as Brian's fingers slid along his crack. He braced himself, palm against the tree and the other hand grasping the small of Brian's back as the older man positioned his cock, reveling in the pinch of pain immediately following the intrusion in his ass. "Shit," he moaned, chest heaving; Brian gave him a moment to adjust, reaching around to stroke Justin's dick before giving a couple of experimental thrusts. A rhythm was soon established, Brian's hand moving vaguely with that of his hips. He pivoted them again and again, scraping Justin's prostate and relishing the boy clamping a hand over his mouth to keep from screaming. 

"This what you were, ahhhh, waiting for," Brian gasped out, clutching Justin's slim hips and groaning as he neared release. He felt the familiar wisps of arousal rising in his belly; it wouldn't be long now. 

"Oh, God," Justin nearly sobbed, head thrown back against Brian's shoulder. "Wanted this," he babbled as Brian sped up his strokes. "Just this, only this, only with you ..." He leaned back far enough for Brian to capture his lips in a furious, slightly sloppy kiss; the older man brought him off and Justin came, moaning against his mouth. "So fucking amazing", he breathed dizzily, breath hitching as Brian thrust into him again, still desperately seeking release. It came only seconds later, Brian vacillating hard against his neck. 

"Christ," he sighed, resting his forehead against the back of Justin's head for a moment and closing his eyes. "Aaaamazing." And it had been, and for a few minutes, nothing else had mattered; Brian hadn't noticed the cigarette still lying on the ground, or that the way Justin looked at him when he said it was just a little more doe-eyed than he should have been comfortable with. And as the kid nudged his lips into another long kiss, neither of them realized that, on his way back from a late-night bathroom excursion, Chris Hobbs was peering at them stonily from behind an expanse of tall bushes.

\--

Michael was positively humming the next morning at breakfast; and despite the fact that ridiculously jovial Michael was a much more pleasant incarnation than his predecessor, mopey and lovesick-over-the-wrong-guy Michael, the humming was unnerving, nonetheless. "What are you so happy about, praytell?" Ted finally mustered up the courage to ask, ignoring the small warning elbow he received from Emmett.

"Oh, huh?" Michael asked, finally tearing his eyes away from whatever - or whoever - he was looking at. Ted's gaze followed, but Michael quickly snapped to attention. "Sorry, what were you saying?" he said again, grinning sheepishly.

"Teddy was just noticing your extremely good mood, sweetie," Emmett cut in. "Did you have a nice evening? With a nice someone, perhaps?" Michael's flush deepened and Emmett dropped all pretense of apathy. "Oh my God, who is it?" he squealed in a hushed whisper, eyes as alight with curiosity as Ted's. 

"I ... how did you know?" Michael grimaced, biting his lip nervously.

Emmett just rolled his eyes. "As if I wouldn't. Now come *on*, spill!" He grinned. "I want details. Who, what, when, and where."

"No 'why' necessary," Ted added with a wry smirk. 

Michael sighed exasperatedly. "Just ... some guy," he said vaguely. "And we haven't done anything! I just ... we ran into each other yesterday, literally, and I think he might be interested 'cause he keeps making eyes at me, but I'm not really sure. I've never really, um, had anyone interested before." He didn't seem to notice the strangled sound that Ted made. "So yeah. It's probably nothing."

"It is a very big something," Emmett countered firmly, reaching across the table to grasp Michael's hand with both of his own. "Now, I demand that you tell us who you're head over heels over!" 

"Or you know, heels over head," Ted snarked. Michael kicked him under the table, but sighed defeatedly.

"Okay, okay," he said, and nodded his head forward. "It's the one wearing the blue polo shirt; the one with the nice muscles," he added.

"O-ho," Emmett acknowledged. "Counselor Bruckner *is* a major hottie. Yum."

"You think he swings your way?" Ted queried. Michael shrugged. "Either way, he's cute. And you know, it's good that you're finally interested in somebody who likes you back," he offered, knowing that Brian was still elsewhere.

"Yeah," Michael said, glancing down at the table; Emmett cleared his throat and glared at Ted. "No, it's okay, Em," Michael continued. "I know it's probably kind of pathetic, me chasing after Brian. But he doesn't like me that way," he said decidedly, more to convince himself than anyone else. "He just ... never has. And honestly, if I had to choose between having a solid friendship like his and mine and banking on a romance that might not work out, it's not even a contest."

"Right, exactly," Emmett said cheerfully, but Michael pressed on.

"I mean, people probably think they're falling in love with their friends all the time, but it hardly ever works out, taking it to that next level. It's probably a blessing in disguise that Brian realizes this before we go through the whole song-and-dance and then end up hating each other," he continued. Ted pursed his lips and massaged his temples.

"Uh, well, in some cases, yes, but --" Emmett tried to interject, but Michael cut him off.

"You shouldn't ever fuck your friends," he said decidedly. "Unless you want to fuck up your friendship." He glanced up finally, trying to gauge his friends' reactions. "I mean, it's a crazy idea, you know?" A long moment of silence followed.

"Well," Emmett finally managed. "It - it's not the right choice for everybody, but ... that doesn't mean it irrevocably damages all friendships." He glanced sympathetically at Ted, who was struggling to continue looking impassive. "For instance, Teddy and I ... well, we were curious a couple of years ago and --"

"Whoa. You two?" Michael exclaimed, his mouth dropping open. "I mean, it's not ... I didn't mean that ... wow. What ... happened?" he finally forced out. 

"All the normal-ish things," Emmett replied nonchalantly. "Mutual curiosity led to a mutual make-out session and then ... well, we just let nature take its course. It wasn't ... awful," he said carefully. "But the whole fireworks explosion we were expecting just didn't happen. And I think we both realized that and that's why our friendship was able to be salvaged." 

"Huh," Michael said. He glanced at Emmett and Ted and then at the back of Ben's head and shrugged. "Well, anyway, it's not like I even know anything about him except that he's really sweet. And that, you know, he's built like Captain Astro." He grinned again sheepishly, and Emmett smiled. Ted poured himself a second glass of orange juice and slowly gulped it down.

Morning announcements always followed breakfast, everyone clamouring into their color team-specific semi-circles and waiting for the Scout Masters to turn them loose. Brian turned up at long last, chancing an appraising look at Justin as he bounded over from the table he always shared with Ethan. He looked around as everyone settled into place, noting idly that Chris Hobbs was nowhere to be found.

"The dodgeball tournament is today," Scout Master Smith was saying, after reminding campers that they'd need to have the counselors sign off requirements for any and all merit badges they'd been working on at Woodlands by the second-to-last day of camp at the latest, and also that Talent Night was coming up. "You'll also be expected to fill out medium-length surveys about your experiences here, to help us prepare for upcoming sessions," he said. He paged through the sheets of paper attached to his clipboard, as if making sure he wasn't forgetting anything. "I think that's everything. You're all free to leave ... except," he said. "Counselor Kinney, the Scout Masters would like to speak with you. Confidentially." 

The campers shuffled out of the lodge, their idle chatter nothing more than white noise in Brian's ears.


End file.
